At Any Moment
by OzRatbag2
Summary: Sometimes, secrets hide in the most unusual places... Epistolary. Eventually SS&HG with MM&AD. Constructive criticism, comments, and reviews are most welcome! Complete - after 5 years - in two parts. Whew! :p
1. Author Notes and Prologue

At Any Moment

OzRatbag2

Rating: R 

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author Notes:** Another exercise in letting the psychotic plot bunny have his way and look what happens. There seem to be a few diary type fics emerging. I haven't read any of them, but if you feel I've lifted something unwittingly, let me know and I'll add due credit. I hope to take things a completely different way. There will be five Potter characters making their inner musings fodder for the reader and all will be different. I won't tell you who they are, but I suggest you'll be able to tell who two of them are at any rate. 

I have changed the name of this fic, as there is another fic of the same name, that unbeknownst to me, was published first. It is by Equipoise and whilst I haven't read it, I know it must be good to think that two great minds could come up with the same title. So, look for, **_Any Moment in Time_** by Equipoise and **_At Any Moment_**, by me.

I've written a fair bit of this before I post it in sections. I would like honest critique, not flames. If it really is rubbish, tell me politely – I'd prefer to know. 

I've not rendered the diary sections into italics. I find if I read a whole block of italics, my eyes get tired very quickly. I can only assume others are the same? 

A very short prologue… 

If one were to look wistfully at the world, they would find within the unappreciated essence of time, moments that ebb and flow like a gentle tide or raging torrent. Such would be the state of the world if one were to look closer at the play of human interaction, the sylphlike quality of memories, interspersed with the more horrifying aspects of a world gone wrong. It was into such a world that a mischievous spirit interrupted what could have been maudlin, but soon became so much more…


	2. Severus I

At Any Moment 

Ozratbag2

Rating:                        R

**DISCLAIMER:**        This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Severus I 

I feel the world, as I knew it closing in on me. The precipice seems intent on urging me to its edge and I have yet to work out why that does not leave me with unbridled terror. Were I to rationalise my feelings, though many think them absent within my very soul, I doubt I would be penning such ramblings. I would be… well I'm not entirely sure what I'd be doing, but idling scraping ink across parchment surely would fit low on my list. Well at least I hope it would. So why am I doing this, whatever this is, if in my rational thoughts I see no sense to it? 

I don't honestly know. 

For some obscure reason writing my fears, longings and trepidation at the turn of events in my corner of the world, suddenly seems the most pressing priority of many thousands that haunt both sleep and waking hours. 

I've never been one to keep a journal of musings. Seems like an utter waste of time and effort to dissect the day into a neat little story, seeking only to demote importance and promote mediocrity. Much like my teaching hours in effect. 

My teaching, now there's a joke – at my expense no less. To seek the tiniest grain of intelligence amongst the swill of…well swill actually. Longbottom. The bane of my existence and an irksome trick on the part of the Fates to give me no respite at all. He proves the adage of not needing brains to breathe, each and every day. How he has not managed to blow the castle from its foundations never ceases to amaze me and yet, the fact that the castle still rests upon its rock at least offers some quaint comfort. He not Voldemort will be the death of me.

I can hear the Fates laughing from here.

And if they would laugh at such a droll joke, then the next will have them reaching for…

I still don't know why I'm writing in this stupid book. I can see no relevance or how this suddenly makes me a better person. I've turned into a rambling pathetic fool.

I've had enough of this nonsense!

_Two days later…_

I am an idiot. I threw the last contrivance of my pathetic life in the fire, then satisfyingly threw this journal across the room. I dented the brass edges and the leather cover looks more scraped, but that could have been when I stood on it and tried to grind it into the stonework.

It could be, but I'm not sure. If I piss myself off again I may find out the answer.

I thought Longbottom was the bane of my existence, but I was lying. She is. She is just so infuriatingly bright – it's scary really. She makes me want to scream, shout, applaud and murder her, all in the one breath.

I hate her, understand her, dare I say – like her and given half a chance I'd cheerfully fuck her too.

I still can't believe I'm writing this down. I'm not just pathetic. I'm a pathetic old pervert with delusions of grandeur and I don't care.

There! I've written it down. Are you satisfied now?

You aren't, are you? You won't be, dare I say it – happy, until I root out and write down every particle of my pathetic non-existence. 

I'm a puppet, controlled, cajoled and led astray by two master puppeteers. I'm not even entirely sure which one is good and which is evil anymore. I'm hedging in the belief that that they are the polar opposites of each other. They are my angel and my devil and I haven't a clue, which is which.

It's long past the hour I should be abed. I won't continue with this exercise. It was interesting in a morose sort of way. No grand ideas, not witty repartee, no fucking idea really.

I've pissed myself off again. 

So – should I continue? Reviews, comments and helpful advice are most welcome. I know this could do with a beta tidying up the rough edges – any volunteers?


	3. Minerva I

**DISCLAIMER:**                    This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Minerva I 

I think I want to gouge my eyes out. I hate patrolling the darkened corridors after a dance – my heart can't take the surprises.

Actually, I take that back. I still want to rid myself of the mental image of young Mr Weasley entertaining his latest conquest, but the boy must have something going for him – four different girls in three different houses on two different nights. I must give him credit for his stamina.

I don't know how I'm going to give him such credit.

You are a funny little book to have found your way to me. I don't who left you here, but having dismissed the chance of subterfuge by those who would seek such an advantage, I can only say that I feel strangely compelled to write in you.

I have no idea why. 

I've never kept a diary. Seemed like a nuisance when one should keep memories within the brain, a mental stimulation when times were low.

It would be hard to pick a lower time.

I won't dally with the treachery of the war, lost souls of students drawn to darkness or the insistence of the Ministry to deny _his_ rise, but it's hard to try and find levity whilst our world loudly implodes. Not even the…well, enough of that. I didn't start to write only to wallow in self-pity.

The next day…

I didn't sleep last night. I thought at least the levity of finding Mr Weasley _in flagrante_ would offer some humour in my troubled sleep.

I was wrong.

I'm worried, scared and paralysed that the zenith will arrive and I won't be able to play my part. I'm not even sure what my part is. Albus is my rock, my friend, and my life's companion. I feel like he constantly carries my weight.

I'm scared I'm going to lose him in the muddle of good versus evil. He's changed and I'm not altogether sure it's for the better. It seems Riddle has changed the dynamics and I'm not even sure how he did it.

I don't like not knowing. In fact – I hate it.

My students are constantly looking over their shoulders, whether they are aware of it or not. I've seen my seventh years age more in the last three months than in the previous year. Some look vapid and uninterested, seeking solace in company, moments stolen in an attempt to understand the horror outside. Others are ignoring the facts presented to them. There will always be students who think school is a waste of their otherwise productive time. The thinkers and Circe knows there are too few of them, try to rally all under their banner, but their latent unpopularity is a cruel stumbling block and one I fear will hasten the conflagration. The last and sadly not the least number of students seem to be anxiously awaiting the fighting, figuring to be safe in the knowledge that might will triumph right.

I will screech like a banshee from the turrets if that occurs.

On second thoughts, I'll take Mr Creevey's camera away from him and then I'll do my screeching. It'll probably be my death song, but if I hit a high C, I might manage to deafen a few of the bastards first.

Look at me. A little book with blank pages and I descend into profanity. Give it time – I'll probably get worse.

I have to go patrolling now. I hope Severus is in better humour. He made me want to jump off said turret last night. A more depressed individual I've yet to meet. He, of all of us has the most reason.

I hope he catches Mr Weasley tonight.


	4. Draco I

**DISCLAIMER:**        This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Note:       This chapter is dark with distinct leanings towards pitch black. If you're squeamish, move right along to the next chapter. You won't lose anything with the rest of the entries.

Draco I 

Mother must have sent you to me. She's always telling me the mark of a gentleman is that he is literate, articulate and 'a man of letters', whatever that means.

I have so much to write, things I can't discuss with anyone. Things I want. I don't trust Pansy. She's a lot like a snitch. Small, glitzy and with a mouth that's constantly moving and I find it hard to catch what she's saying most of the time. Good thing I enjoy fucking her so much.

Mother calls me highly strung. Father says I'd fuck anything that moved – and probably a few things that didn't. Well he'd know.

Like father like son.

So what am I supposed to write?

I thought I'd just open you up and you'd help me get the things I want.

You're pretty useless actually. I suppose I could list the things I want, crave and need and then work through them. A seventh year project unlike any other. I wonder if Professor Snape would give me credit for fucking a Weasley and killing a few Mudbloods.

Mudbloods – that's what I want. I want Granger panting for me. I want her bound and gagged, stripped and loving it. I want to hear her scream my name in pleasure as I rip her throat open.

On second thoughts, I want Ginny Weasley to watch me **_do_** Granger, safe in the knowledge that she's next. Oh I won't kill the littlest weasel – I'll _Obliviate_ her and then play with her for the rest of the year…well at least until Ma…

Enough of that, I'm getting ahead of myself. You might just be a blank book, but I don't trust you to know all my secrets. Father would bugger me then kill me if he knew I knew when the battle would start.

I gave my Master a helping hand with a little (and believe me it was tiny) problem and he told me the secret. He made me use my wand arm – said it had a bit more power. I think he just wanted to be sure I wouldn't chop my arm off in disgust.

Eurgh! I'm never going to lose that image.

I'm going for a walk – see if I can find any action.

Later…

I'm jealous. I want what Weasley's got, besides Abbott moaning his name over and over again.

I had to hide – McGonagall was doing rounds. Snape must have been out as well. One of his shoes squeaks. I backtracked and found a corridor – a new one, with a room off it. I didn't think I'd have the pleasure of watching the activities, but I wanted to push Abbott out of the way to see the weasel in action.

No wonder all of Weasley's women sound like they've had their brains hammered three times a day – they have, trust me I saw the evidence.

This is just making me angry. I'll never get to sleep. 

Why did Weasley get the best luck of all?

Stupid book. 

The next night…

The page disappeared. I didn't throw it out or burn it. It just disappeared.

I don't like this. I **WANT** that page back **NOW!**


	5. Hermione I

**DISCLAIMER:**        This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Note:        Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader and sounding board. She has good advice and stops me from being too vague. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth a read. You'll find the link in my favourite fics.

If you're still following this, but confused, please don't worry. This will be, in terms of a diary style fic, quite long. There is a link and a key to the fic coming up in the next chapter. I've never tried to write a fic like this before, so I am learning as I go. Whenever I write, such that it is, I always try to test the characters, probe their strengths and weaknesses and hopefully offer a new slant on a series of characters I didn't create, but I have a lot of fun toying with. 

We are, all of us, the sum of our parts. This fic will be the sum of its parts. _(With apologies to Edward Abbey and by proxy, Gestalt psychology)_

**Hermione I**

I find you worrying, little book. Richly tooled leather, blank pages, hand bound, but as innocent as you seem, the taint of Riddle's diary is one I'll never forget. I didn't open you until I'd shown you to Professor Dumbledore.

He smiled at me, offered me tea and told me I was well favoured to receive such a gift. He knows something more, but he just sat there as though a wonderful joke was being played out in front of him.

I hate not knowing what's going on. I hate it more when others are privy to the information I want and they don't tell me. I hate being young, smart and Muggleborn.

I may as well cut to the chase and say I hate everything, myself included, at the moment. I'm not usually so negative.

Why?

Well if I knew the answer…no, Hermione, don't be flippant. I do know the answer. I'm just not sure I want to write it down. I feel it'd be a waste of such wonderful vellum – I'd be lying, of course, but then a blank journal (hopefully) won't pull me up or castigate me because I can't stop wavering and write what I feel the need to write.

That sentence is too long, but it's not like I'm going to be marked on it.

I sound stupid. I hate sounding stupid. I need a break. I'll be back later…I think.

_That evening…_

I've been thinking. If Professor Dumbledore knows I have you, then I'm hoping you might be good news rather than bad news.

I could do with some good news.

I'm not worried about my NEWTS anymore. I gave that up when Malfoy swaggered onto the Hogwarts Express at the start of the year. He looked at me like I was a prize – one that I really don't want to think about.

I can't help but think…

I feel as though all my knowledge is useless in the face of the stress I can feel mounting around me. I'm dithering – I know I am. I should just write what I need to write and then I'll feel better.

Right?

I'm angry, frustrated and just sick of everything. I want to rage and argue and fight. I can feel a hundred and one emotions, many at the same time and it's left me completely flummoxed. I don't know what to do first. There isn't a book or person who can tell me why I feel the way I do and I hate myself because of it.

I hate Ron more at the moment, but it's a fine line which of us I hate more…

He had the gall to 'offer his services' to help me, he said it'd help me to work out what was important.

Bullshit!

He might be one of my oldest friends, but he hurt me and I don't think he realises how much…

Ron made it sound like I was a task, a duty he was honour (now there's a joke) bound to carry through. What he really should have said was that he'd worked his way through the sixth and seventh year girls and I was spoiling his perfect record.

He can go and fuck himself before I'll descend that far into hell. For all I know, he probably has already – fucked himself, that is, although he might have done it while he was descending into hell. One can but hope.

I wanted to hex his balls off, but who's to say that a wand has an infinite number of spells and charms it can perform before it stops working. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. So I waited, biding my time until the Great Hall was packed for dinner and I figured I'd get the most impact, literally and figuratively.

So I kicked him…in the knee. I know I've got lousy co-ordination, but something or someone was in the way. I really don't want to know the answer to that question. I got satisfaction and he lost the urge.

I feel vindicated. I'd feel more vindicated if I'd managed to kick him where I thought I was aiming.

I feel better – I'm lying again. I can't seem to help myself. I know I'll have to talk to him sooner or later.

I'm hurt and angry that his solution to terror and war is to satiate himself in his baser senses…and he wanted to drag me along for the ride.

I'm scared of what's coming. Harry has retreated into a slow spiral of madness. If I look at it logically, it's like he's been on death row for seventeen years. He didn't know it for the first eleven years, but he was busy trying to climb out of purgatory at the time so any confusion on his part is understandable.

He won't talk to me. Mind you, I can't talk to him, so I'd say we're fairly even in the denial stakes.

I know what I want, but I can't tell you just yet. Give me time, little book. 

Give me the time I haven't got.

Reviews, comments and/or critiques are welcome.


	6. Albus I

**DISCLAIMER:**        This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author Note:**       Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader and sounding board. She has good advice and stops me from being too vague. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading. You'll find the link in my favourite fics.

It should also be noted, that the idea of a journal 'talking' back to a writer, is of course the original idea of J. K. Rowling.

As promised, this is the make or break chapter. If you're still reading and I hope you are, this is the chapter that will (hopefully) give you some idea as to why these characters were picked, where the fic is going and whilst the ending is still way off in the distance, something to look towards.

You can thank Niamh for Arcanus. He literally leapt out at me when Niamh was pointing out some vague bits.

**Albus I**

I caressed your soft leather tonight, edged with brass and a premature patina, then opened you and admired the luxurious cream of quality parchment and could not resist the gentle pull to write. 

I feel honoured and privileged that you have chosen me a second time within this existence known as a lifetime. Once at the beginning of endless promises, and now towards the end with its unremitting grief and false praise.

I feel humbled, I feel wistful and I also feel very old.

I am aware, if you had not realised, that one of your recipients was worried about your intent. She was bemused and irritated by my reaction, but there is naught to worry about.

She is a splendid choice. I can only hope the other four, myself included, are worthy of such trust.

Twice in one hundred and thirty years to make an appearance is indeed unusual. Before I had the pleasure of your acquaintance in my youth, it had been over two hundred years since your last foray. It leaves me questioning why you would appear so soon after your last visit.

I am not so old to know that such a query is not worthy, but I am curious. You will no doubt let the others in on your secret in your own good time.

I am not so arrogant, as my clock slows, to question your presence as an idle curiosity. You were never idle, were you, Arcanus?

Silly of me to expect a reply when I already know the answer.

_Yes._

So you have been listening.

_Of course. Were it to have been any other way, I would not have gifted you._

I have something new to learn and no time in which to learn it. Oh, for the appreciation of endless possibilities, the whimsy of knowing the world was not tainted and teetering on the brink of the unknown.

_You cannot simplify life, Albus._

Why have you come back now?

_Why not?_

That is not an answer.

_It is the only answer I am prepared to give._

I had forgotten how frustrating you could be.

_Thank you._

Can I talk to you, old friend? 

I'll take your silence as a yes, if I may?

I am worried. I fear for so many – the weight our decisions, past follies now spiralling out of control. I have become suspicious in my dotage and I detest feeling swamped with emotions that should be devoid, for the time being at least.

I am but one man at the end of my journey; a journey I see many unable to start or continue due to my past mistakes. The optimism of youth has given way to the pessimism of age. I see the evil of Riddle pervading, invading and degrading all that I hold dear – and I am powerless to stop the circle from completing.

I am not worthy of your favour. 

_I need a conduit – that is you._

Find another more positive on…

_You are the only one, Albus. You always were. Your pessimism is disheartening, but underneath your melancholy, I sense you, the real you. That is for you to discover…again._

You always did know how to make me feel like a penitent. Thank you for your trust and by forfeit, your counsel. I need a trusted 'ear'. I do not want to burden Minerva, she who is my soul, my half in the circle you gifted me with in my youth. 

She is precious to me.

_She is worthy of your trust. You will need her love and counsel. Even you cannot live without love. Your fears are honourable, misguided, but honourable. Had you fallen into the snare of poor choice, I would not have gifted you a second time._

Are the others aware of you? 

_Naught but one and he was not worthy. _

Can you tell me who they are, other than Miss Granger, of course?

_He that would see suffering as a curse, not a gift be one. _

_Love be the second, depravity the third, tenacity the fourth and resilience the fifth. The third was a mistake._

Can the third be gifted again?

_Why?_

If it would aid us in fighting shadows, I would offer my gift. It is you, old friend, who told me of odd advantages. I sense an odd advantage in depravity.

Will you gift him, for me?

_Perhaps…_

**_Arcanus will always be italicised to separate his replies from Albus'._**

Reviews, comments and critiques are welcome. Just push the review button and tell me what you think.


	7. Severus II

At Any Moment

Ozratbag2

**DISCLAIMER:**   This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

Severus II 

Diaries were never meant to fly. The more masculine journal, such as you, fares slightly better with a levitation potion applied to it.

I'm losing my mind!

I'm sitting here in my office debating the pros and cons of potions extending the flight of inanimate objects. You have a few more scuffmarks, dents in your fine edging and…I'm still losing my mind and quite pathetic really.

I tossed my last entry into the fire again. I feel you have a secret.

I will be wary of letting you know too much.

No one will ever keep my secrets, save myself. I am facing oblivion by day and irreparable darkness at night. I hate this cycle. I can see no positive end.

I had thought my melancholic mood lifted, but you seem to bring out reflections – the pen and ink version of that despicable mirror.

All I ever see is myself surrounded by light, nothing concrete, nothing interesting, just overwhelming light. Useless, completely useless…

If I thought that drowning myself in a vat of good cognac would answer my more pressing questions, I would already be damned. Perhaps it is that I have no true desires, nor any redeeming qualities and thus the mirror passes judgement in the only fashion it can.

So I sit here penning irrelevant musings, worrying my cigar and idly swirling my thick black coffee as I pause, considering my next move in the conundrum I call my life.

I'm lonely. I'm facing oblivion and all I can add to the debate with myself, is that I'm lonely. I have other considerations, but I'm not quite ready to join the dots to the links I'm faced with. 

I don't trust myself and I certainly don't trust you.

Albus had the audacity to tell me that I had every quality necessary to find a path around any obstacle. 

I was in his office, trying to escape the gentle cajoling to give him more than the usual spiel about the meetings I try to edge myself away from.

I cannot share that existence with anyone. The revulsion I elicit now, would increase a hundred fold in light of some of my more damning revelations.

I can feel the darkness overwhelming me, urging me to rejoin the fold, put away the obsolete notions of fairness and embrace the pleasure of pure power.

I drug myself on power and pain, and then purge myself with recriminations; nameless faces floating across my sleep deprived visions. They are not dreams; they are visions of the depravity that evil will command, if I fail in my task.

That I once fervently believed the propaganda irks and nauseates me. I had thought myself a more pragmatic man...a realist, not a fundamental idealist.

I was wrong.

The extremity of absolute belief is hard to ignore. I can see merits to both arguments. It scares me to see two sides to the same argument and the lengths that some will go to reinforce their ideas. I feel as though I'm clawing at air to try and maintain a position.

Am I right or wrong? 

My scales and sense of balance is out of kilter and like a rodent trapped by the endless need to tread the wheel, my own attempts to fathom good and evil wage their own inner war for supremacy.

I hate trying to rationalise philosophy. Much ado about bloody nothing. Rambling arguments spiralling into more ever widening arguments. 

I wonder if philosophers are just as confused as the rest of us?

The next morning… 

Albus keeps looking at me oddly…well more oddly than usual, anyway. He knows something and I know that I want to know what it is. I'm just scared to ask and he can sense my fear too.

I hate being weak. I hate having to rely on others and I loathe the thought that at some stage I will have to try and be…social. 

I like my solitude. 

I am never so alone as I am amidst dithering conversations. Minerva had the urge to tell me a, 'few home truths', she called them. She is one of the insufferable meddlers. Just because she is impossibly optimistic doesn't mean I have to follow such an inane rule.

She goads me to retaliate.

I'd love to turn her into a dog…with a cat fetish. Mrs Norris would be well entertained. Mrs Norris, despite the name, is actually male.

I wonder if I threaten Minerva, she'll get the hint and leave well enough alone?

She had the temerity to tell me that my moods were interfering with my teaching and that my depression made her, 'want to slit her wrists to cheer herself up.'

I offered to help her…

I need a new wand and the back of my head still hurts. Gryffindors never could understand a subtle joke.

I'm avoiding the staff room for a while – the infirmary too, all of which leaves me writing drivel in an inanimate object that does not even provide the entertainment of flying by itself.

I wonder if I can enhance the levitation potion?

As always, comments and critiques are welcome. Just hit review and let me know.


	8. Minerva II

**DISCLAIMER:**            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

Minerva II 

I cannot believe the audacity of that man. All I did was offer him some comfort, some words of advice. Surely that isn't a crime…and he repaid me by using his grubby mouth without engaging his grey matter first. He really should be thankful I thought to slap him and not some of the more creative ideas I have now.

But to look on the bright side, he now has to explain to Ollivander just how he managed to damage his fourth wand in seven years. I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. Severus did tell me at one stage that Ollivander had threatened to charge him triple rates, simply for the angst and bother of keeping track of a reasonable supply of red cedar and phoenix ash.

Oh well, no mind. If he dares to try the same stunt again…my creativity will prevail.

Slytherins have, as a general rule, a very dark outlook on life. Severus unfortunately takes that black comedy and adds his own personal twist of the knife. Had life been kinder to him, I wonder if his gentler side would have outweighed his attraction to the lure of dark knowledge.

On a selfish note, I am glad of his assistance in the current hostilities, which for so long was a phoney war, devoid of battlelines, but vicious nonetheless. 

I grow evermore tired of comforting students grieving for loved ones lost to Riddle. It is a pervasive sickness flooding our world and the true survivors are few and far between. It is my fervent hope that Miss Granger will soon regain her equilibrium. Her denial of some of the more recent events is disturbing, but I see no way of sponsoring her to face the reality of the brutality she has had to shoulder.

I wonder if I should send her to Albus, if indeed Albus could find a chink in her armour. Of all those on the staff whom I would trust with my life, Severus would be the most suitable to tear down her illusions, but I'm not sure Severus has the compassion to realise when enough is enough.

I will have to watch her more closely. I will have to watch all of them more closely.

I have a meeting now, for which my attendance is required. I will consider my growing list of obligations…later.

The early hours of the next morning… 

I cannot sleep. Our latest intelligence is so disturbing that I find myself quite unable to sleep, through sheer terror of the implications.

If the information, Severus has gathered, along with Remus' correlations is even half correct, then I fear the ultimate confrontation will arrive very shortly.

We are not ready…we are nowhere near ready.

Severus' confirmation that four students left to take the Dark Mark is distressing and depressing, but I fear they are four out of how many others we don't know about. Severus has promised the Order a list, as complete as he can afford to be, of those who have taken the final step towards pledging allegiance to Riddle. He has also promised to catalogue some of the activities of the four newest recruits.

I hope he treads carefully. Despite his faults, I would miss his friendship and acerbic wit.

The next day, late in the morning… 

Severus arrived back just in time for breakfast. I had to hide my relief and mask my features with a staged scowl. His slight nod alerted me to that his steps had been successful and despite the fact that his flight from the Great Hall was staged, I cannot help but feel it hurt him to be ignored…again.

Miss Granger saw the whole exchange. I only hope her curiosity and inquisitive nature will not be furthered by my stony look.

Mother always told me I was too optimistic.

As always, comments and constructive reviews are most welcome.


	9. Draco II

**DISCLAIMER:**            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

AUTHOR NOTE: This chapter is very black. Most of the violence is implied rather than stated outright, but it will leave you in no doubt as to what Draco has been doing. To forestall the flamers – you have been warned.

Constructive criticism and critique are most welcome.

Draco II 

I must have been tired the other night. I'm sure I tried _Revelatio_ to expose my writing. I must have been imagining things. I was irritated and stressed and…I'm not sure what else, but I've got my entries back and that's all that matters.

Father took me to a meeting tonight. I wasn't going to share that insight, but I can only assume you also have many secrets. 

I hope you keep mine. You had better keep mine!

I had never seen such delights. The cloying, pervasive scent of death; the power of life and death in my hands and at my wand tip.

I've learnt so many new tricks – I will be invincible and I have plenty of filth to practice on too…

I want to corral all the Mudbloods and use them to perfect my technique.

We went Muggle baiting tonight. All were dead by the time we had finished and I helped.

Father gave me a girl to blood myself on…I loved every minute of it.

Her fear and her terror gave me my power, my lust…my victory. It was like the adrenaline surge of Quidditch, but I have to keep this part of me secret, known to only a few, trusted colleagues.

I'm sitting here smiling as I remember.

You never know just how far blood can travel until you see it forcibly exit the body. 

The first couple of Muggles were easy prey…their kin left to contemplate their fate increased the tension…goaded them to fight for their supposed redemption and increased the thrill.

My thrill. Power.

Father always said power was the greatest aphrodisiac. I had no idea what he meant until tonight. He is frightening to watch. 

I hope I never disappoint Father.

I have no doubt that if I ever thought to cross my Master, I would be the one spraying my blood against the wall.

I am young, fit and strong. My Master, Lord Voldemort had better watch himself – I want his adoration…I will have it and with that adoration, I will claim my right as his successor.

I want to be feared, loathed and respected. Power…

I want a Pensieve to catalogue my accomplishments, a reminder that I will know everything. I will be feared. 

That Granger bitch. 

I want her to see what I can do. My arousal increasing with each notch of her revulsion. I can see her face now, scent her fear.

She'll wish she'd been born stupid.

Stupid and Muggle.

I might _Imperio_ Weasley. Make him play along and then release him.

I want to see how long it takes the Weasel to do the 'decent' thing and kill himself. I might even send him as a gift for my Master – a gift from a 'faithful' servant.

Now that's a laugh. I am faithful to no one, save myself. I don't trust Father – he has ruined me now. 

I never had a chance to be different. I don't know that I ever really wanted to be different, just accepted.

Father has dragged me down to his level and I can't see the ground from where I am.

He goaded me to act. Oh, I enjoyed it don't get me wrong, but what sort of father gets their son a Muggle bitch to play with?

I'm confused. I don't want to be confused.

Later… 

I wonder if Pansy will play rough?

Too bad if she doesn't want to…play. What does she think being whelped to a Malfoy means…afternoon tea with polite society?

I have so many questions. I feel like I'm rambling, but I can't seem to concentrate.

I think I'm worried, no not worried, just wondering what will happen if I don't continue to revel in the games my brethren provide.

I don't want to know what traitors would endure.

It'd be worse than what I did tonight…it'd have to be.

I'll just have to make sure I'm the strongest so that I can change the rules. Either that or I'll be a wizarding mercenary. Getting paid to hunt down people.

Maybe I can make that my project?

As always, comments and critiques are welcome.


	10. Hermione II

**DISCLAIMER:**            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

**Hermione II**

I had Potions this afternoon. It was odd. Well the potion I had to brew wasn't in and of itself odd, just the fact that I was left alone to complete it. I don't think I can ever remember having a class with Professor Snape where he took so much care to avoid me. 

Obviously distancing himself from the Mudblood. Can't catch any of those nasty common non-wizarding germs that way.

Point of fact, he didn't seem to stalk around the room at all, just sat at his desk gazing malevolently around the room. He didn't even complain when Harry dropped a whole vial of lilac essence and made the classroom smell like a large, freshly cleaned toilet.

I wonder what's wrong with him?

Harry still has the shakes. I'm going to have to bury my pride and talk to him at some stage, but what do you say to someone who is so on edge, they really haven't got a clue if they're Arthur or Martha?

I think I'll put that dilemma in the 'too hard' basket for a while. I'm being a coward, but I have no idea of how to start that particular conversation…'So Harry, have you lost all your marbles, or are some of them still clinging to your skull?' or 'I know Voldemort wants to kill and dismember you, but enough already – you're starting to whinge.'

A fast way to lose friends and irritate people.

I've only ever had two real friends, three if you count Ginny, but now everything's changed again. Ginny has her own agenda and I'm not privy to what that is, Ron only wants my company if I open my legs and close my mind and Harry has closed himself off. He isn't even taking care of himself…like he's given up without even trying.

How do you get through to someone who thinks they're already dead?

The next morning… 

I don't believe I wrote all of that yesterday. I find it easier to unburden myself to a journal than face the fact that I have no idea of how I'm going to make it through each day. 

All the teachers look on edge, so maybe Harry has started a trend. There are still empty places at the Slytherin table – no prizes for guessing who they are or where they are. I don't know why Dumbledore lets them stay. Surely he must realise that they're passing on messages to Voldemort.

I know Dumbledore has some odd ideas, but maybe he's feeding a false trail back to the Death Eaters. I suppose he could do that, but then perhaps he's giving the same information to Professor Snape. 

What if he's not the only spy?

I saw Snape scanning the tables during breakfast…like he was looking for something. He passed something to Professor McGonagall, but she didn't acknowledge him. He looked really angry, then just stood up and swooped out of the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall just looked at his back, touched Professor Dumbledore on the right wrist and then stood up and left as well.

She gave me an odd look as well, pursed lips and the, 'mind your own business' look.

There's something going on. I just wish I knew what it was.

Later that same morning…

Hogsmeade was cancelled this morning. I'd dragged Harry with me and we were waiting in the Entrance Hall for Ginny when Professor McGonagall swept through all of us and stood in front of the main doors.

She didn't even say anything, just tacked a notice to the door and walked back towards the Grand Staircase. It was all a bit surreal. Even the message didn't say terribly much of anything. I know members of the Order can't say much, but as teachers, why didn't they give a reason?

So I came back upstairs, but instead of opening my work, I opened you instead, which of course you already know, because I'm writing in you now.

I want someone other than a diary to talk to, not that you talk back or anything, but I don't think I'm asking too much. I miss the old Harry and I miss the easy camaraderie and bickering I shared with Ron.

I wish I'd never heard of Voldemort or Death Eaters or the War. I want my friends back and I want a simple life where all I have to think about is, how stressed I get over my exam results and if someone nice will ask me out.

I don't think I'm asking too much.

Why can't things go back to the way they were?

Comments, reviews and critiques most welcome.


	11. Albus II

**DISCLAIMER:**            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to my beta reader, Niamh. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

Albus II 

I wonder why everyone seems to think I have all the answers?

I don't. Omnipotence and omniscience are oft-used words, but they hold little weight. I'm just as confused about the state of our world as everyone else, yet for some obscure reason I'm supposed to solve both the mundane realities of a school and the profane eventualities of a war.

I've never had all the answers. Like a master magician, I just know how to put on a good show.

Severus is my most pressing concern. Of all those I watch, he worries me the most.

I can see him retreating into despair and the inevitable realisation that a monster marks his time.

Like an ascetic perched on his pillar, he has sought to distance himself from the world; creating an impenetrable aura of a mean spirited, aloof and socially inept man, bent on attaining his perfection.

The wish to remove himself from the pressing concerns of the earth, the trifles of Wizards and his part as their pawn.

The leap towards the perfect lack of emotion and henceforth – oblivion.

What Severus could have been without an error of judgement and what he has become are complete opposites. For a man to have so many glimpses at what could have been, he has become his own worst enemy.

It all ties back to Riddle.

If I do nothing else in the time I have left, I will seek to eliminate his influence and spectre from polluting another generation.

My own frailty of spirit senses that this is unattainable, but I refuse to go quietly.

Four students have received the mark in the last two days, twenty in the last month. I had hoped that Hogwarts and the ideas of equality, excellence and community, might have forestalled their participation.

House or blood loyalty means little. Whilst Slytherin claims the latest four, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and a lone Hufflepuff share the dishonour.

They are another flay of the whip of self-flagellation that Severus performs daily, and a festering sore on his already bruised heart.

They take his precarious position and make it ever more difficult. Any show of remorse, sentiment and regret will instantly find itself back to Riddle, as we have spies following the most consummate of spies.

He cannot take much more. None of us can.

Minerva seems to be the only one who takes his misery and seeks to goad him into some show of presence.

Their tale has spread the length and breadth of the school, no matter the attempts to dissuade any gossip. 

I fear for Sir Nicholas and the Baron if Severus ever finds out their part in the dissemination of the story. I don't think he has ever realised the place the house ghosts have at Hogwarts; their sentinel and protective duties are the least understood part of their individual roles. 

_Early the next morning…_

I tried to get Severus to give me more details about his meeting last night. It was not forthcoming. All he could say was that Lucius had taught his son well.

I dread to think what that means, though if the haunted look in Severus' face was any guide, I will do just as well not to know.

The other, dare I say it trifling details were also skirted briefly. The presence of Remus' latest intelligence effectively sobered everyone, Severus included.

Seven students are now orphaned. The attacks, whilst seemingly random, have a disturbing pattern. Though many of the more narrow minded students will see the deaths of two Slytherin families as a lesson or example of faithlessness, such inane prejudice is what keeps us bound to mediaeval ideas of purity. 

Remus' news, detailed though it was still leaves the most important of unanswered questions.

When, how and who?

I'm not even sure we'll win and that scares me. 

I've cancelled all off grounds activities, Hogsmeade of course being the most notable. Quidditch cannot resume until I have further strengthened the wards surrounding the stadium, effectively making it an island of protection. 

I cannot stop everything, for to do so is effectively an affirmation that Riddle has me worried.

I wonder how long it will take everyone else to realise that 'worried' is somewhat of an understatement?

_In spirit lands and with heart held high_

Resilience will ever win the day… 

In that rather twee way, old friend, do I take it you have begun to spin the gifts?

_Yes._

As always, constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome. It only takes a minute and I would appreciate the feedback.


	12. Arcanus and the Keys

**DISCLAIMER:**                This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author Note:**       Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader and sounding board. She has good advice and stops me from being too vague. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading. You'll find the link in my favourite fics.

The following original creation is written in metered and rhyming verse. If you wish to borrow bits of it, ask first!

Arcanus and the Keys 

Hogwarts fair we call to you__

Hide this power and strength renew__

We The Four do thus beseech thee__

Warded from war and travail be we__

Arcanus be the name bestowed__

Warded in since time doth flow__

He be Master of this fortress__

Guardian, watcher and restorer__

At a time of great upheaval

Will your gifts be released__

And from that moment forth

Five markers must you seek

Look for keys to advantage all__

Five to mark the magical realm

Friend or foe the five must be

To offer aid or succour thee

One who would suffer, though gifted be__

The first worthiest gift for he__

Passage marked and like a book laid bare__

The key to peace be for him to share__

Lovers old and lovers new__

Renew tired souls and speak most true__

The second worthiest gift for she__

Forgiveness be the key __

Evil marked and evil planned__

Depravity be a sentinel device__

Tainted, poisoned and reviled__

Worthy not, but one of five__

Release be his key__

Will to fight and need to prove__

Tenacity sparks courage true__

Stubborn countenance, intellect and joy__

Foresight be her key __

Wisdom, power and good intent__

Great honour does Arcanus give__

Friend, confidante, conduit he__

Resilience be naught save guide__

Houses four held united__

Aid the five whose toil must start__

Sentient though we know not how__

Arcanus, friend defend us all__

Influence none save to write__

Good counsel keep, wise choice hold tight__

Should evil claim the fortress fair__

Your duty shall forever cease this lair __

Ghosts and guardians chosen thus__

House allegiance protects their trust__

All must e'er thwart evil's plans__

Dark will strike if naught are fair

Should none prove worthy

Dark times will dawn

And all will be as evils pawn

Know well that wisdom, health and light

Must e'er be vigilant over might. 

So, comments, critique or thoughts anyone? Does this work? Are you any less in the dark as to the direction of the fic?

Click the review button and let me know. It only takes a moment and I would appreciate the feedback.


	13. Severus III

**DISCLAIMER:**            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

Severus III Prior to lunch… 

Albus is at present speaking to the students affected so wretchedly by death. Three Slytherin families decimated and debrided to the core. In the aftermath of the carnage, I have a student missing a much-loved twin and cousins deprived of their whole families. The Malvern boy need not have died, but was visiting with his friend from Beauxbatons.

Senseless, worthless loss.

Of the list of regrets that grow, my most pressing is that I could not speak to them myself. One cannot be an undisclosed spy and show any kind of remorse to 'supposed' traitors to the cause of purity.

I am nothing. No one person should be as I am. But that I have sentient thought, I could be Imperioed to perform my duties and quite wonder why I am not more controlled.

Perhaps Voldemort enjoys the figurative emasculation of a pawn?

I have no doubt that Minerva, Filius and Gaea Sprout are likewise trying to find platitudes to explain the sudden, shocking loss of innocence – that gritty demonstration of the depravity of war, that sees some of the more blatant members of the cadre, smirking at others misfortune.

I would enjoy giving back even half of the mayhem done to these stupid children, but it would only prove that Riddle has eviscerated my soul to the point where the line between good and evil is forever blurred.

Hogsmeade was cancelled this morning, for which I am eternally grateful. I would have sooner given myself away than try to debase myself further with an act of malicious glee at the grief around me. Gryffindor and Slytherin may always sit on opposite poles, but to have had Mr Malfoy receive poison laced lollies, would have lacked subtlety – subtlety I can ill afford to be without.

I would then have to deal with Lucius and he scares me more than Voldemort.

Has my soul become so calloused that the thought of eliminating a child is such a ripe thought?

After lunch… 

I walked into the Great Hall and the incessant chatter ceased – immediately. Then the hissing started, led by Potter, of course. Mr Weasley and Mr Finnegan restrained him, but it was a close call.

Minerva had already confiscated all of the students' wands prior to lunch; and given the volatility of the invective Potter was throwing around, I owe Minerva a large bottle of spiced rum…again.

I'm not sure which is preferable. Depressed Potter or Suicidal Maniac, Potter.

I sat between Minerva and Gaea, who had obviously planned my positioning as a show of strength and support.

I was grateful, but couldn't help wishing that a large hole had opened under my feet, swallowing me and rendering me insensate.

I could not eat – the thought of food was sufficient to cause purgative effects and I had to leave the Hall quickly. This lack of manners only gave cause to see my exit as fury and anathema against Potter.

Sometimes, without thought to a plan, the inconsistencies of life conspire successfully.

Mid afternoon… 

I've just returned from an aimless walk around the castle. I had hoped to chance upon Minerva, Gaea or Albus, but they were either hiding in their rooms or hiding from me. Neither option strikes me as particularly palatable.

I want to know what happened…I need to know.

The names of the affected just keep rolling around and I can see the students in my minds eye.

Sylvian, Thomas, Malvern, Fletcher, Zal and perhaps in terms of greatest loss…Granger.

The name of the other family is unknown to me…some poor Muggle family who frequented the dental practice belonging to Miss Granger's parents.

If I were Potter, I would have aimed for my jugular as well.

I can ill afford to sit here and write meaningless queries. I really need to find Minerva.

If I decant the spiced rum, Minerva will find me – must be the feline sensitivity to alcohol.

_15 minutes later…_

Trust Minerva to sniff out her favourite tipple from the other side of Hogwarts.

I must go, though I do believe I will actually write further on this subject.

I have no idea why that doesn't seem so insane anymore…I must have passed the point of no return.


	14. Minerva III

**DISCLAIMER:**   This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

Minerva III Mid afternoon… 

At times like this, I really think Theodora had the right idea. Open a shop in Diagon Alley, change her name to the mysterious, Madam Malkin and offer 'Robes of Distinction' to all and sundry.

I don't think she's ever forgiven me for suggesting that she could still call herself Madam Malkin and proffer a more lucrative trade. 

As her younger sister, it was my duty to goad her relentlessly. She doesn't see it that way…can't say I'm too surprised. 

I'm just delaying the inevitable when I think of the news I had to bear to two of my students this morning. If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.

I'm not even sure what I said, how I phrased it or whether or not it really sank in. I have the sense that these two students are the first of many I will have to counsel, comfort and …and I'm not sure what else, but the thought turns my stomach.

I received word from Albus just prior to lunch today and was then left with the quandary of finding the appropriate time to inform Mr Thomas and Miss Granger.

I would say, 'right time', but there is never a right time when one considers the fact that two of my students are now orphaned for no other reason, than their Muggle heritage. 

I loathe the brutality of prejudice and the inherent fanaticism.

I came across Mr Thomas coming in from Quidditch practice and was able to talk to him fairly quickly. Suffice to say, his reaction was dramatic and immediate. I have allowed him to explore the grounds at his will and informed those who need to know, that he is grieving somewhere on the school grounds.

Hagrid, bless him, will be his guardian whilst he comes to terms with his loss.

I found Miss Granger on her way to lunch shortly after I had come from speaking with Hagrid.

To stop the school gossips from having too much of a field day, I asked Miss Granger to accompany me to my office to discuss 'something.'

Albus had already informed Messr's Potter and Weasley about Miss Granger's loss. 

It was done so that they can support her and help her come to terms with the circumstances of her parents' deaths.

Poor girl thought she was in trouble, given the perplexed and pensive look on her face. Well she was, as degrees go; but not as the informant against Mr Potter's nightly activities. If I could have assured her without the whole school being all the more curious, I would have done so.

It's done now, and I feel as though I've splinched myself, neither one nor the other, just bone weary.

I worry for her, given the lack of reaction. It was all the more intense because she simply said nothing, just looked at me as though I was playing a sick, sadistic joke on her – then there was just a blank shell looking back at me.

No tears, no shouting, no questions…nothing.

What response can one possibly give when informed that your parents were placed under _Imperio_ by Death Eaters and commanded to kill a Muggle family who were patients visiting the dental practice? Or that following that debauchery, they were then ordered to kill themselves…and did so?

I want to find the perpetrators of this abomination and…and…and that would just bring me down to their level.

I am so angry with Lucius Malfoy and his symbiotic crowd. They feed on one another's debauchery and malevolence like the parasites they are, then quietly retreat to their estates and grow fat off the corruption inherent in the Ministry.

I want them to feel the terror and pain they inflict, ten-fold. I want to know why they get away with all of this, yet we sit bound, waiting for them to batter down the gates.

I love too many people and this wonderful home to see it defiled by filth. I am determined to find a way for us to triumph, to see those who have brutalised so many, brought to heel and banished from conscious thought.

Late Afternoon… 

I am worried about Miss Granger. I can't find her anywhere. It's as though she has dropped off the face of the world and I have no idea why I ranted by pen, when I should have been keeping a closer eye on her.

If you can somehow tell me where she is, please, I beg you – tell me now!

I could not be more worried if she were my own child.

I talked to Severus an hour or so ago and he promised to set out from the dungeons to look for her. He wants to talk to me later. I can sense his questions even before he asks them. Poor thing needs to learn to give a bit more of his trust. Now, however is not the time to start rumours of another corridor confrontation.

Albus forbade him from even being allowed to inform his students of their losses. Poor thing probably feels as though he is just the puppet of two very powerful men.

I hope he finds her safe. 


	15. Draco III

**DISCLAIMER:**   This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

Draco III Early hours of the morning… 

How ingenious of Father to transform Belisarius, my falcon, into an avian portkey. I was able to neatly circumvent the usual prohibitions on arriving into the school without rousing suspicions.

The coppery, sweet scent of blood is still clinging to me. I can feel it pervading my senses and it is…invigorating; a foretaste of times to come all too soon.

The excitement is palpable.

I can't wait!

I wonder if the blood of weak Muggles and traitors is the same?

To see a laughing cut from ear to ear, see the blood spurt and congeal, sense the death of the spirit along with the body.

I can't wait to tell Malvern how much his brother squealed. I have to keep quiet for now though.

Father says that anything within the circle is strictly held and that no mercy would be shown to one who would break the bonds of close counsel.

If the death of a traitor would be as I witnessed and joined in my turn tonight, I do not wish that fate to befall me.

I'll save my gloating for our victory, safe in the knowledge that the might of my Master will protect me from retribution.

No one said anything about not giving a triumphant look – yes, that's what I'll do. Force the little coward into confronting me.

What's one more dismembered body given over to the Forbidden Forest?

Thomas' parents were a pushover. They didn't even struggle, just accepted their fate.

My Master said they saw themselves as martyrs – sacrificed to evil in the hopes that some good would come of their deaths.

Sounds stupid to me and I said as much.

I never want to know what Cruciatus feels like again. Ever nerve feels as though it's been plucked through my skin and then seared with a red-hot poker. My limbs are still jerking every so often and it's embarrassing when I fall over.

I can't control my own body.

Riddle said I needed to learn my place; needed to obey without thought and if a demonstration was needed again, he would take me to the edge of insanity to prove his point.

I'll kill the bastard. 

No half blood mongrel Wizard will ever call a man of pure heritage to such a humiliating position again. I won't let him. I want Riddle dead at my feet…soon, very soon.

I want my father dead next to him. He laughed at me. I could hear him from the circle and once the punishment was complete, his slow clapping just fired off the sensation torching my nerves…and he knew how it would affect me too.

He knows that I know and I hate him for it.

Snape hauled me to my feet, gave me some Pepper-Up Potion and told me quietly and in deadly earnest that brains and commonsense were mutually exclusive terms and I had no right to claim either one at that moment.

I'll make him pay for that. I don't know how and I don't know when, but he'll regret his comments.

Maybe I can take heed of father's methods and Imperio Snape to kill Riddle and Lucius and then turn his wand on himself.

Father said I could watch the sire and dam of that bitch, Granger, die, but that I couldn't use magic, or I'd be detected off the school grounds and then he'd be forced to kill me too.

Father would have enjoyed that almost more than the idea of Imperio used to force Muggles to kill other Muggles.

Granger 'll never live down the fact that her precious parents are now murderers.

I wish I could be there when McGonagall tells her. I need to be an animagus or something so I can sneak in and out of places without being found out.

I wish Snape had stayed around, but Riddle had an errand for him and so he Apparated away just before we entered their poky little office.

It was all so calculated and organised and even though I loathe giving Riddle any credit, he does know how to put on a show of maximum force when the need arises.

It was quick and deadly and efficient.

There's just one thing I'm really confused about.

They had a funny looking aquarium. I could see the fish swimming in front of me, but I couldn't see them from the side or the back of the tank.

I wish I could ask someone why Muggle aquariums are different to magical ones…


	16. Hermione III

**DISCLAIMER:**            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own fic, _To the Honour of the Mother_ is well worth reading.

Hermione III Early afternoon… 

I know why Hogsmeade was cancelled, and all those odd looks I was receiving suddenly make the most horrible sense.

I'm not even sure why I am writing this down. Could it be some vain attempt to make sense of what is insensible, harrowing and horrendously frightening?

Professor McGonagall called me aside just prior to lunch and walked me to her office. She didn't say anything other than she needed to talk to me privately.

How stupid of me to wonder if my marks were slipping or if Harry had been caught out on one of his nightly prowls.

I rather wish that it had been something as trite and mediocre as that.

Nothing can ever prepare you to face the death of a parent – nothing.

To then have that loss magnified, scrutinised, sanitised and spat out as the next front page, is infamy personified.

I'm not making sense am I?

Don't worry, little book, I will explain all.

Should I explain how I thought Professor McGonagall was annoying me because she just wouldn't say what she needed to say, or should I explain how I didn't even cry…just sat there, feeling as though the world had fallen out from underneath my feet.

I know she gave me some fairly detailed information, but I don't know what it was. All I heard was 'Imperio', 'parents', 'Muggle patients' and 'all dead'. I'm not even sure if that's the order in which she mentioned them.

I'm not sure about anything, truth be told.

It's only a short time until I leave Hogwarts. I wanted to see them and let them know how I've fared, all my friends, my teachers, the magic inherent in every corner of this wonderful place.

I won't ever be able to see them again. I'll never be able to talk to Mum about anything, everything and nothing. 

Why couldn't I see them one last time? I have so much that I wanted to say – that I wanted to let them know.

I just wanted to be able to hug them and tell them that I love them…one last time.

I don't really blame Professor McGonagall for wanting to tell me everything in almost one solid breath, but I wish it'd been a bit like that old game of, Whispers; only instead of the story getting worse, it would just be to a stage where it was so ridiculous, I just had to laugh.

I'm not laughing and I'm not crying…I'm just here…and I sort of wish I wasn't.

I need to go for a walk. 

I have to try and process things…dream it's all a mistake, and then come to the crashing realisation that it's not.

I don't know what I want or need any more…

About 8 o'clock in the evening… 

Umm…I think something really odd just happened.

Oh really, I'm being obtuse! It was bloody odd, not uncomfortably odd, just odd…odd.

I suppose that doesn't really explain anything, other than I seem to have a penchant for the word 'odd' at the moment.

But I can't think of another word to describe it at the moment. If I think of one, I'll use it instead.

I did go for a walk. It was aimless, or so I thought and I just had all these visual images fighting for prime time in my thoughts. I still haven't cried…not really, but I just needed to find somewhere to order my thoughts.

All I found was more questions with answers swimming just out of reach.

I don't know why I headed for the dungeons, or why I felt the need to find a lonely piece of the solid stone-wall to kneel in front of, but I did.

I wasn't praying as such. I wanted to find something solid and quiet so that I could make sense of everything.

I don't think I have…made sense of anything, but somehow it seems less important now.

I think it all goes back to that inconsequential little word, "odd."

As I was saying, I knelt on the cold stone floor, feeling the clammy chill seep rapidly through my tights, then laid my palms flat against the rough hewn stones in front of me. It was a simple matter to then gently rest my forehead on the stonework.

I felt instantly calmed and at peace, almost as though having found the bedrock of Hogwarts meant that its gentle strength was lending me aid and succour.

I'm probably rambling, but I can't describe it in any other way, other than the fact that it was comforting and revitalising.

And then I sensed him. I knew whom it was, even with my eyes closed and my hair forming a curtain around my face.

I managed to subtly move my line of vision to look at him on my left, to see his reaction; see his customary self-important sneer exert itself, and to hear his bluster.

I half expected him to deride me, mock my supplication as a Christian observance, then take points and give me a detention.

He didn't do anything even remotely like that.

He just looked at me oddly, almost fearfully, as though I was a fragile wisp of glass ready to shatter if he so much as twitched the wrong way.

It was decidedly odd! 

I really have to think of another word.

He didn't say anything or back away from me, but instead removed his wand from his sleeve and conjured up a hand hewn oak chair, sat down on it and just watched me.

The chair was unremarkable, but I imagined it as old as the wood used to make the A-frame that hefted the cornerstone of Hogwarts onto its bedrock base.

Even knowing he was watching me, I went back to my meditation, seeking solace from the stonework. 

I didn't feel uncomfortable. Actually, truth be told, I felt like I was protected, guarded and cared for. It was quite bizarre to sense not only a kindred soul in the stonework under my brow, but to find such a soul also present in a teacher – a person I don't know and find it hard to understand most times.

I don't know how much later it was, but when I sensed him again, he was closer. His right hand was held slightly cupped near my left ear. A libation of sorts to my supplication, or so it seemed at the time.

I leant back slightly, feeling my knees protest at the duration of my set posture, took my left hand from the wall immediately in front of me, rubbed the grit on my robe and grasped his hand.

It was warm, smooth and strong. 

He helped me to stand, then let go of my hand once I'd regained my balance.

I didn't look at him, didn't thank him and he in turn said nothing.

I walked back here to the Tower and I knew he was following me. I didn't sense that my journey was a trial or an imposition to him.

As stupid as it sounds, it's almost as though he was voicing his support and sympathy in the most generous way he knew.

I have no idea how I can go about thanking him or whether or not he would see any attempt to do so as a Gryffindor weakness for self serving sucking up.

I'll have to think about that one.

I wonder if I could ask him where he got his wonderful chair?

It looked really comfortable too…


	17. Albus III

**DISCLAIMER:**   This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her new fic, _I Will Follow Thee_, as well as, _To the Honour of the Mother_, should be on your reading list if you are enjoying this story.

Albus III Just after lunch… 

I'm getting too old for this.

Slytherin genealogy, interconnections and intrigues are beyond me. Oh, how I wish Severus could have been hiding in the meeting with his students this morning.

Unlike the bereaved students of other houses, I felt as though Riddle was manipulating me by proxy. The final indignity to my students, for they are all mine to look after, was that they already knew far more that I did.

By proxy, Riddle trapped me into unwittingly prolonging their suffering.

The goading, toadying and more blatant elements of Slytherin had already begun the torture of students too young to realise that outright war had been declared on decency.

The demarcation of the battleline for the most suspicious of houses has already begun and without endangering Severus' position, I can do nothing to cull certain elements.

Sylvian, Malvern and Zal, all old names within the circle of Slytherin and but for the three students I tried to comfort, eradicated.

I am faced now with the prospect of having to protect students from the worst excesses of greed and power and in doing so, ensure that the fear of such power does not force any more students to cross the lines of allegiance.

I lack Severus' subtlety and I'm faced with the inevitable fate of trying to think like a Slytherin.

I feel as though I'm going to have to compromise my principles for the greater good and it does not sit well.

I'm not even sure who or what the greater good is anymore. The lines seem irreparably blurred.

An hour later… 

Minerva and I have broken our one cardinal rule. We promised ourselves that those precious few moments away from the spotlight of school business would be spent discussing other more enjoyable pursuits. Politics and intrigue would hold no place during those times.

How could we not discuss the emotions of the day?

Harry's not altogether unexpected vitriol directed at Severus at lunch was not something I would have thought Mr Potter would indulge in, but I was wrong. The fact that the other houses, under the relative cover of anonymity joined in the baiting is reprehensible.

That display was not our most pressing concern.

Minerva is worried about Miss Granger. She feels Mr Thomas will have expended his grief fairly quickly, as his reaction was the one she was also hoping to see in Miss Granger.

Minerva cannot understand the numb lack of emotion. It seems contrived to her and though I tried to explain that Miss Granger would grieve in her own way and in her own time, this did little to ease her mind.

There is other history afoot guiding Minerva…it's almost instinctual for her to try and see the same patterns in others.

She must forgive herself the follies of other times… 

Yes, old friend, she must.

**_As always, constructive criticism, reviews and comments are welcome._**


	18. Severus IV

**DISCLAIMER:**   This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her new fic, _I Will Follow Thee_, as well as, _To the Honour of the Mother_, should be on your reading list if you are enjoying this story.

Severus IV About 10 o'clock in the evening 

How do you deal with a child brutalised with the truth about death?

It is never a pretty picture. There is no explanation to describe the diseased mind that would contemplate the spectre of death as a show of bravado.

I would have liked to talk to my students, appease their confusion about the catastrophe surrounding them and somehow assuage my guilt at having witnessed the carnage.

I wish I could have made them feel safe.

I'm not making sense…none of this is making sense.

The senses have abandoned every detail, from young Mr Malfoy's glorified gloating at the demise of his classmates, to Voldemort's irrational summoning of me from the Granger's.

The attendance was planned, of that I have no doubt. His ability to unnerve one with a simple change of schedule, would trip up a less accomplished liar and see them confess their sins like an unworthy penitent.

Riddle will have to be more original if he would wish to see me fall into that abyss.

Voldemort is worried about Draco. Worried is the wrong word…he admires Draco's cold-blooded brutality and lack of remorse and he is uneasy about Draco's motivations. Riddle feels that given the opportunity he will be shunted aside by a creature he helped to create.

He should have thought of that before he allowed Lucius to breed. Mind you, Lucius should be worried about Draco as well. He cannot however get over the proud parent stage; the dread congratulations at the dismemberment of a child by another child. If blood were a libation, Draco would be thrice blessed by the fates and forever damned by the spirits.

My task now is to subtly undermine Draco's influence amongst his classmates; to see him derided and '_brought to heel'_. Those were Riddle's exact instructions. It would seem that my efforts to build him up as an heir apparent were too successful.

The wire that I balance upon grows ever more slippery.

I have cause to believe Minerva faces her stresses on a similar piece of suspended infinity.

Minerva came to me this afternoon in an uncharacteristic panic; Miss Granger was missing and could not be found in her dormitory or anywhere in the upper part of the castle.

Of all the sentiments to describe Minerva, cool, calm, collected and controlled would sit at the forefront of any list I chose to make.

She displayed none of those traits when she knocked on my door this afternoon.

I have never seen Minerva drop her bundle quite so blatantly. She was almost hysterical and although I know little of her past, her rocking body, wringing hands and wild-eyed gaze were sufficient to give me pause to think Miss Granger had succumbed to her grief.

It was not comforting, nor something I wished to see happen for a multitude of reasons…all of them selfish.

I made Minerva sit near the fire, then collected the jars of calmative herbs I keep close to hand.

I made sure my movements were calming and methodical as I made the infusion of White Chestnut, Chamomile and Clover. I needed Minerva grounded or I would descend into her panic, and one irrational teacher was enough in this instance.

I could not go haring around the school in a panic. Malfoy and his cronies would have the information to Riddle faster than I could find Miss Granger and assure her safety, and I refuse to give cause for them to seek another victim with my assistance.

As the tea calmed and clarified Minerva's thoughts, she offered a frightening monologue of past times under Grindelwald. This coupled with her daily fears, constant worries and prior dealings with the House of Malfoy, gave me a glimpse of the disintegrating character in front of me.

When she seemed more coherent, I called Albus through the internal Floo network. He came immediately and I left the pair of them talking quietly in front of my fire.

Truth be told, I was grateful to be away from the evidence of Minerva's memories. Her iron-laced spine is a fictitious mechanism to help her cope with the cards that life and evil have dealt her.

It is unsettling to think she has had a life of such sorrow, yet she has not succumbed to the melancholy I suffer.

I envy her…her struggles are her strength. 

I assured both Minerva and Albus that I'd sift through every crevice to find their precious Gryffindor and report whatever I could as soon as I had any information.

So I began a methodical search of the dungeons. It seemed a logical place to start.

I still cannot remove the shattered aura of Minerva's grief. It was as though she thought Miss Granger would suffer the same treachery if not found quickly.

Any students that I found lurking as I searched, were sent scuttling back to their Houses. A fictitious curfew due to the grief shrouding the castle was sufficient warning to most.

I came upon Miss Granger within twenty minutes…a picture of serenity amongst the tumult of emotions ringing through my consciousness.

I don't believe I have ever seen anyone look quite so meditative and peaceful, amidst the grief that surely must have been swimming through her mind.

I felt like an interloper and had she not sensed my presence, I would have secreted myself in the shadows and watched her…guarded her from the security of anonymity.

She knew I was there and I saw her shoulders stiffen.

Did she think I was going to abuse her for her solitude, or perhaps the means by which she cocooned herself against the stones?

Why ask a question when I already know the answer?

So I watched her momentarily, then drew my wand from my left sleeve and conjured my 'thinkers' chair.

Albus gifted it to me when I first came to Hogwarts. For all I know it could be some sick joke. He would see the sublime joke in gifting a Gryffindor chair to a Slytherin mind.

Hand hewn oak, darkened with age and the gloss of countless bodies that have set themselves upon its seat. I can in those odd reflective moments sense the creative energy that formed its shape, planed its edges and gave it an almost sentient presence.

It is a cherished gift from a man who sees only the good of me, never the bad. It is a gift I can never repay.

I do not know for how long Miss Granger continued her supplication and I was content to just watch her. The subtle movement of her right hand as it twitched upon the stone, almost seeking to draw out some sense of solidity to aid her faltering strength.

I could have no more invaded her privacy if I had sought to crawl inside her thoughts and force her to divulge her mind's torment.

It was as though our thoughts and grief were intimately fused in that one moment and it scared me.

It prompted me to act to end the unwitting invasion and so I stood, then walked slowly to her left side, lest I startle her again and very gently placed my right hand near her left ear.

Sensing me, she leant back then, wiped the grit on her robe and then stunned me by clasping my hand firmly.

Though still slightly chilled from the stone, her hand was soft and dry. It fitted neatly into my grasp. 

I helped her to stand and she smiled faintly at me, looked at our joined hands, then as if suddenly realising just who was helping her, dropped her grip and her gaze.

Without a single word spoken, I knew I had to follow her, to ensure her safety…or so I told myself.

It is as though in that one moment of innocent connection, she has woven her soul with mine and I don't know how she did it.

**_As always, constructive criticism, reviews and comments are welcome._**

**Author Note:** My apologies for the delay in posting – the Writer's Block Bunny was running interference!


	19. Minerva IV

**DISCLAIMER:**            This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author Note**: Many, many thanks to **Niamh **and **pigwidgeon37** for helping me to whip this chapter into shape. I owe the pair of them a great deal of virtual chocolate for their ability to cut through the crap and help me latch onto the pearl of an idea.

Minerva IV Early hours of the morning… 

I can't get to sleep. I have a montage of images and memories vying for my attention and I'm at a loss as to where to begin.

Albus and I occupied Severus' apartments for an extended period of time talking quietly and remembering both the good and bad times. I'm sure we startled the poor boy when he returned. I suppose he thought we'd have found my quarters more comfortable to dissect our shared history.

If I hadn't started crying when Severus relayed the fact that Miss Granger had been found safely and escorted back to Gryffindor Tower, I would have laughed at the absurdity of his expression.

I do not believe I have ever seen Severus look confused and I would give a large sum of galleons to have the reason at my fingertips.

I'm rambling, stringing meaningless thoughts together to avoid the fact that to begin my own healing process, I must write down my torment.

Albus keeps telling me that secrets only have power when people are afraid to share them. It makes it hard to share his optimism when I am the one struggling to make sense of what confronts me nearly every day.

How strange it feels to know that aside from myself, there are only two others who know the truth of my past and the resultant consequences in the present…and both of them are men.

I feel like crawling under a large rock. I want to be able to wake up one morning and find it's all been a horrible dream. 

I want to know what it feels like to dream of possibilities, draw strength from my mistakes and move on.

I've been wishing the same thing each morning for the last forty years and Albus, bless him, has had to put up with my moods and denial for each day of each of those forty years.

I sometimes wonder why he puts up with me.

I'm sounding wistful and it's an utterly useless emotion. I want I need to purge my memories onto this inanimate piece of parchment and I haven't got a clue how to start.

I think I need to just sit and think for a while, then just write what comes to mind immediately and without censorship.

Near dawn… 

Well, sitting and thinking about how to start did achieve one thing. I'm annoyed at my weakness and the thought that I have to face Severus at breakfast this morning, with him knowing what he knows now…I don't like it and I have the urge to _Obliviate_ him of my memories.

But I must have felt compelled to tell him for a reason. I just have no idea what that reason is…

Another lie to add to the many other sins of my life.

I've had an interesting and varied life. It's been one of great promise, sorrow and reflection. It's been good, bad and horrible.

It's time to start anew.

When I was little older than Miss Granger, my life looked to be blessed by great luck and joy. 

I thought so too. Too late I realised that the scales of time could so easily upset my balance. 

I'm not even sure of how the shift started…

Lucius Malfoy's father was an interesting character, a Slytherin through and through, but also one of the most cultured and sensitive – hard though that is to believe – men. Both Albus and Severus remind me of him, a conglomeration of the best parts of a man, who so rapidly changed, that I'm not even sure what happened.

…And therein lies the tale…

I'm not sure where to start. He brought out the best in me and showed me that when it came to hate and suspicion, I was a babe under the control of a master. 

Flavius made me feel made me desire him and I would have done anything for him. He always said I was his light…that he would be lost without my safe influence guiding his path.

I trusted him and he betrayed me. He used me for what he wanted and when I had fulfilled my purpose, like a good little girl, he discarded me, mocked me and made me angry enough to want to kill him for his slurs.

I didn't kill him, but every time I think of him – all of it, I become so enraged.

I don't like myself when Flavius is mentioned. I loathe what he made me and I hate the fact that he could manipulate my feelings without any remorse.

He taught me that hate was a passion, a way to defuse or inflame any situation. I listened to him sprout this mantra time and again until I became immune to its inner message.

We were the new best bright couple; a match blessed by the Fates and destined to many happy years. Our families were friends and so it seemed a natural progression for us to marry. I saw myself as his vivacious and pampered consort…and marvelled at my destiny to have captured the heart of such a man. I adored him and he possessed me body and soul.

I wanted for nothing. Flavius agreed to my every whim, cherished me with gifts and hosted the most lavish parties. 

He made sure that I felt in control, that his _'meetings'_ were no more than the price a married woman had to pay in Wizarding Society circles. I had no inkling that it was all high farce and that having a complacent doting wife was his perfect foil to hide treachery.

I cannot believe that he used me...that we used each other.

I can see that now, but for so long I railed against any interference by those who sought to _'enlighten'_ me about my husband's errant ways.

. 

It still hurts to think I was so blinded that I ignored the whispers of darkness. I let my carefully crafted ego rule me, and Flavius continued the charade long after the truth dawned. 

When our son was born, Flavius was delirious with joy. A son to carry on his name and our first three years set the groundwork for a joyous and loving child. He was a sensitive boy, gifted and artistic, with a fine mind and happy disposition.

And then my world shattered.

I ignored the signs, cast aside friendships and allowed Flavius to entangle me in his narrow focus. I chose to ignore the obvious and replaced it with the aura of the good wife. 

If I'd managed to see him for the man he truly was; the hints of manipulation, coercion and greed, perhaps I could have steered my son away from his influence.

I didn't want to see what my head was telling me and he encouraged the deception. 

My intelligence could have overridden my objections to the truth, but I saw truth as a hindrance, an inconsequential part of my nature. My ego…my love of the pleasure and the prestige of acceptance ruined my trust. I chose to remain ignorant to the reality of my situation.

I was stupid, fickle and shallow and though I could have helped myself, I chose not to do so. I'd found a fool's paradise and revelled in it. I replaced knowledge with stupidity and I damned my son to the fate I chose for him, however unwittingly.

The distance and deception placated me and I found that not asking questions allowed me a certain level of immunity to my predicament.

Flavius chose poorly in a Wizard's Duel and I laughed the day he died. I cannot believe I'd been so hardened by our mutual coercions. I wasn't even happy to see him dead… 

I was disgusted that I could wish ill of a man who'd shown so much potential. I didn't think of the consequences, only release. I saw my chance to stop our son from being manipulated by hate and that no matter the cause of his father's demise, he'd be better without his father's twisted influence.

I was too late. Flavius was a planner and he ruled from the grave. I'd neglected my son and it haunts me still. It is another scab I pick at constantly and the festering sore that continues to repeat itself.

I infected my son with hate and damned my grandson to repeat the cycle I started.

Using his power and a little known codicil, Flavius entrusted our son to his mother and removed any chance for balance. I found myself relegated…a reminder of what could have been…

I couldn't I didn't want to admit 

I should have fought for him, but I ran instead. 

If only he hadn't seen me laugh in genuine relief at his father's death. If only I could have removed him from the tomb of expectations.

I gave my son the chance to hate me for abandoning him.

My life is full of _'ifs'_ and I pay for them each day.

I see my grandson every day and that is the final hurt. Flavius would be so proud of his little dragon. The cheating, deceitful mirth of knowing that he can still torture me from the grave and that my grandson does not even realise we hold a blood connection.

It is his turn to laugh at me.

My mistakes continue to spiral downwards. I gave birth to a monster who pays homage to terror.

I am, and always will be, Minerva Caecilia McGonagall Malfoy and I hate myself for that too.

**My usual disclaimer: Comments, constructive criticism and reviews are most welcome.**


	20. Draco IV

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her own stories, To the Honour of the Mother and, I Will Follow Thee are well worth reading.  
  
Draco IV  
  
Two nights later.  
  
I can hear the voices of the dead in my dreams. They keep telling me their secrets, my secrets.  
  
I don't know whose secrets they are anymore.  
  
I want.I need to be able to sleep. I just want some rest and I don't know how to get it. I think I need to ask Snape for some Dreamless Sleep Potion. I think a lot of things in the quiet hours.  
  
I think I'm losing my mind and it scares me.  
  
Father sent me a message yesterday. He wanted to know if any of the 'bereaved' had done the decent thing and killed themselves; said it'd save him a hell of a lot of grief if they'd just kill themselves.and me by proxy. I have to try and finish the job. Riddle wants them all gone inside the next two weeks.  
  
But they didn't tell me how I'm supposed to achieve that now that they are all in their own wing of the school. Under lock and key, guarded and watched at all times of the day and night. The Bloody Baron should be easy to neutralise, but that stupid Gryffindor ghost isn't really as stupid as I need him to be. The bloody Friar would have been a better choice. He'd be a pushover to bribe, but he's not in control of himself, let alone anyone else, so he's no use to me whatsoever.  
  
I wonder if Snape will help me?  
  
Near Dawn.  
  
The voices are getting clearer.and they're frightening me. I don't like this feeling; in fact I hate this feeling. It's like I've got the weight of their deaths crushing me, making me feel small and inconsequential and they're laughing at me too!  
  
Pansy has taken to sleeping in her own bed again. She said I was raving and thrashing too much last night and that whatever was up my arse was likely to ruin her complexion if I managed to smack her in the face. Might have been an improvement, but I was never likely to be that lucky.  
  
Pansy was easy enough to scare though - said I might use her to practise my fucking on.for Granger. Told her I wouldn't use the knife on her though, unless she really pissed me off. That shut her up. It shut her up so well, she won't talk to me now.  
  
I'm expecting a Howler from her papa this morning and probably mine as well.  
  
I have to try and get some sleep. If I skip breakfast, I might be okay by the time Potions starts at 10am. Snape will be all right with that.  
  
If I'm lucky, he might just let me sleep through the class, not that he has before, but maybe given our joint links to the 'brethren' he might see his way clear to giving me some leeway.and I've got as much chance of that happening as I have of a unicorn letting me get within ten metres of it too.  
  
This is ridiculous - I have to get some sleep!  
  
Just after lunch.  
  
The bloody fucking bastard told me my potion was too thin; that it was vapid and uninteresting. I'll bloody kill him. Fuck Granger and the others - he's first.  
  
My potion was the same colour as the Mudblood's, but he didn't pull her up. Well, he did, but I copped the worst of it and then when I tried to point out why Granger's was wrong, he just cut me off. He cut me off!  
  
He made me look like an idiot, like I was a little first year that didn't know the difference between valerian and hyssop, so when I tried to tell him, he made the comment to the whole class that the know-it-all had competition.  
  
They all laughed at me. No one laughs at me and gets away with it.  
  
Snape just waved his wand and cleaned my cauldron instantly, turned his back on me and walked to the podium. He didn't even say anything, just walked. When he got back up on his crow-like perch he told me I had to start again and if I got it wrong this time, he'd make me keep doing it until I got it to a level he felt I was capable of attaining.  
  
Wait until I tell my father about the mongrel and his tactics. Father will defend me - he isn't a school governor for nothing.  
  
Snape wants to see me at the end of classes today. He said we had much to discuss. He's not bloody wrong about that. I need to stop writing now and go and owl father so that I have him for backup.  
  
He can persuade Snape to talk about why I'm the new target. There are eight Gryffindors in the class. Why didn't he pick on any of them?  
  
About 9 o'clock that evening.  
  
McGonagall must owe Snape big time judging by the looks the pair of them were giving each other in the Potions Classroom this evening. Granger was there too, mucking around with some potion. I had to be careful I didn't smirk too much near Snape. Seems the Mudblood must have gotten detention for some reason. I'll have to find out why.  
  
Anyway, back to McGonagall. The old witch always looks at me strangely - like she's seen a ghost or something. Stupid old bag; she must be losing her mind. She looked really pale, like she was going to pass out or something when Father walked into the room. Even Granger looked at the pair of them oddly. McGonagall gave a large bottle of something to Snape, then nodded towards Father and crossed her arms in front of herself.  
  
Neither of them said anything, but McGonagall's back was straight and she looked strained. Father had his 'predatory' look on, the one he always has when he's about to kill someone.  
  
I have no idea what's going on, but Snape dismissed Granger and told her she could come back in an hour and finish her punishment. Then McGonagall put her arm around the Mudblood, turned and nodded to Snape and left the classroom without a backwards glance.  
  
There's something going on with those two - McGonagall and Father that is; and I'm going to find out what it is. Surely Lucius would have better taste than to fuck a stuck up old Gryffindor bitch and let her live.  
  
I want to know what their grotty, grubby little secret is. 


	21. Hermione IV

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Many thanks to Niamh, for her superior betaing skills. All of her stories should be on your reading list and you can find them at FF.Net listed under, Dame Niamh.  
  
Hermione IV  
  
Early hours of the morning.  
  
I woke up calling for Mum again just now. I keep seeing her in my dreams. It's like she's trying to tell me something, only as soon as I seem close enough to understand what she's saying, it all just disintegrates into a green flash and a maniacal laugh.  
  
I just need to know what she has to say and I know I won't get back to sleep now that I've woken up screaming. I'm scared of closing my eyes and seeing the images again. They never go away and if anything, they seem to be getting worse, and stronger too. I refuse to call them visions and that incense laden old fraud in her Seers' paradise is welcome to claim them as such, if they'd shift their focus to her and leave me alone. They won't budge, though, and no matter how many times I try to get close to her, Mum just disappears and the laughing starts.  
  
I want to know and I don't want to know in almost equal measure. I'm scared and tired and wrung out and I just want a decent night's sleep. I can't even blame it on me being in a different bed, though being in a different wing of Hogwarts might have something to do with it all.  
  
Professor Dumbledore moved all of us who'd lost their families to the West Tower the day after the murders. It's a strange sensation to not actually be in Gryffindor Tower any more, but we all seem to be trying to help each other, even the Slytherins, and it's like we have our own little house where no matter our allegiances, we all know we have each other.  
  
Some of the others have had a truly harrowing time and I feel a bit guilty to think that insomnia and some bad dreams are the worst that has happened to me. Dean lost not only his parents, but also his older brother and younger sister, and Zachary Malvern lost his twin brother Simon. It's a toss up as to which of these two is the biggest mess, but they both glare and walk away if anyone tries to help them or ask them how they are. I'm worried that either Dean or Zachary is going to do something drastic and it would be the spark to the powder keg of emotions swirling through our reinforced prison.  
  
I'm being selfish, but I don't think I could take any more grief, not until I've dealt with the weight hanging over me now. I can't even cry properly. I just tear up every so often when I think that Dad would be interested in something that has unwitting links to the Muggle world, or that Mum could help me work out why I have butterflies in my stomach and my heart flutters whenever a certain someone comes near me.  
  
I just want to talk to Mum one last time, have Dad hug me and tell me I'm his girl and know that wherever they are, they're happy and together.  
  
See, I am going mad and I'm shocked that I don't really care if I end up a dribbling mess in St Mungo's or not.  
  
Mid afternoon.  
  
I wonder what's going on with Slytherin politics and it makes me wonder if I'm the only one with a death wish?  
  
Professor Snape took points from Slytherin, or more specifically, he took points from Malfoy and asked him to remain behind at the end of the class.  
  
Malfoy was red in the face and looked ready to pull his wand and start firing hexes and it would have started with Imperius and worked its way up from there.  
  
I don't know why Malfoy was so pissed off. I've put up with that sort of shit for seven years and it just makes me work harder to prove myself. But then I'm used to it, Malfoy isn't and I bet 'daddy dearest' will have an irate missive before the day is over.  
  
After Malfoy had left the classroom, slamming the door on his way out, I came out of my hiding place along the corridor and knocked on the still vibrating door. I didn't hear a reply, so I just opened the door slowly. Professor Snape must have thought I was Malfoy, because he had his wand out and looked like he was going to use it. When he realised it was me, he just dropped his wand onto the desk in front of him and turned his back on me.  
  
He looked really angry and I'm glad he didn't fire off a curse at me. I don't think I could have stood all the coddling in the Infirmary and the aftermath of Harry and Ron finding out just who had hexed me.  
  
It seemed like the longest time before he turned around to face me. I have no idea why, but I really didn't want to see him angry with me as well. I asked Professor Snape if I could have some Dreamless Sleep Potion and he of course wanted to know why.  
  
Why couldn't he just give it to me? It's not like I'd abuse it. I got all teary again, because I thought he was going to make me beg for the potion, but he just conjured up two chairs, sat quietly in a chair opposite mine, and ordered afternoon tea from the kitchen. Then he just watched me and didn't say a word for what seemed like the longest time.  
  
What is it with him watching me? It's like he's trying to read my mind and I don't know which is worse, hexing me mistakenly or peering into my soul and upsetting me. I wish I had burst into tears and howled for the injustice of losing my parents to a madman who's never met me, doesn't know me and will never understand me. I cried, but not over that.  
  
I'm stating the obvious, but at this point in time, I really don't care.  
  
He asked me why I wanted the potion. I must have looked incredulous, because he backtracked pretty quickly and then told me the most amazing things; things that I'd never expected him to feel, nor voice to a mere student.  
  
He told me that he wanted to tell his students about their losses, but that his tenuous position didn't allow for such sympathies to be voiced or generally known. He said he felt like he'd been grievously wounded and that all the intrigues were becoming more focused and malicious. He said he wanted to rage at the injustices that made a student seek solace and peace from a stone wall and that he couldn't understand how she could look so peaceful and accept his meagre offering of assistance.  
  
He told me other more personal things and they touched me so much that my tears started again.  
  
He made me cry, really cry and just sat there waiting until I'd settled down. Then he offered me a cup of tea and a slice of chocolate sponge, after I'd wiped my eyes.  
  
I had to laugh. How absolutely absurd! I couldn't help myself and I still get the odd giggle when I think about it now. I cried in front of the one teacher I thought hated me. How wrong was I?  
  
I never thought I'd say this, but I can't wait for my 'detention' this evening. He said I was quite capable of brewing my own Dreamless Sleep Potion and that he would expect me promptly at seven o'clock. He's even going to lend me one of his good cauldrons so that the potion isn't tainted.  
  
About ten o'clock in the evening.  
  
Well I had my 'detention' and Professor Snape allowed me to use his personal potions ingredients for the Dreamless Sleep. I kept looking at him every so often as he sat at his desk.marking I think. He is so methodical in his movements and he gets the most wicked grin before he slashes at some poor student's work. It's like a perverse form of entertainment for him; sort of like finding entendres in everyday conversation.  
  
Despite countless opinions otherwise, I think he really enjoys teaching.  
  
I was about halfway through the potion when Professor McGonagall showed up with a large bottle of Muggle Scotch. She closed the classroom door behind herself, stopped to talk to me briefly, then as she was about to talk to Professor Snape, Draco Malfoy just walked into the classroom without knocking and left the door wide open.  
  
He leered at me like he always does, and then looked directly at Professor McGonagall with a sneer on his face. She was looking at him strangely and she looked really pale, almost as though she was going to faint. I saw her stiffen up and look really shocked and frightened when she saw Lucius Malfoy swagger into the classroom. I thought the wards would have kept him from entering the school.  
  
She handed over the Scotch to Professor Snape with a nod and a smile, then turned again to face Malfoy Senior, crossed her arms and almost looked like she was daring him to try something.  
  
Professor Snape dismissed me curtly, but kept the pretext of 'detention', by telling me I had to come back in an hour and finish the potions for the Infirmary. Professor McGonagall put her arm around me; looked strangely wistful as she stared at Professor Snape, and then skirted around both Malfoys with a steely look on her face. She didn't say anything, but I could feel how tense she was.  
  
She didn't say anything to me until we were well away from the dungeons. She told me that if I ever found myself in trouble, Severus Snape was my best protection.  
  
There goes another childish belief, as they obviously don't hate each or other. There's something else going on.  
  
I wonder what it is? 


	22. Albus IV

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Many thanks to Niamh, for her superior betaing skills. All of her stories should be on your reading list and you can find them at FF.Net listed under, Dame Niamh.  
  
Albus IV  
  
Early hours of the morning.  
  
You knew that was going to happen, didn't you, Arcanus?  
  
You set Minerva up, manipulated the people and moments she holds close, for varying reasons, under the glare of inquisition and then sat back and watched her crumble under the stress.  
  
Have you taken to gifting people with grief, for I assure you, you need not bother? There will soon be more than enough grief for anyone not vowing allegiance to Riddle. Why drag all this ancient history up from the depths? It does little benefit to the aggrieved parties, other than to continually pick at the error of their past mistakes.  
  
Are you questioning the gift or the necessary results from accepting the gift, Albus?  
  
I'm questioning why you feel the need to make people jump through hoops that you've never really defined. When last you visited me, you gave me a gift that served to help others. This time, well this time I'm not so sure what your motives are, but if hurt and humiliation are 'gifts', I'd sooner you just find some other specks to gift.  
  
You're angry with me, yet you don't really understand why I'm here. I wonder if the gift of wisdom was a poor choice for you, Albus? You seem intent on ignoring it at this moment and that troubles me.  
  
I'm angry because you hurt her.  
  
Who?  
  
Minerva of course. Why, who else have you been hurting?  
  
Minerva must forgive herself the past. That is her key. How she chooses to enact the pull exerted by the gift is her business alone. Your love and protection served her in the past, but it's long since past the time that she needs to manage her own history. She wants to move on.I can sense her need to move on, but she's scared of so many different factors.  
  
She's scared you'll abandon her if she seeks to redress the past.  
  
How can she redress the past, when the past would happily chop her up for amusement?  
  
That is not your concern, Albus. You are a conduit, not the adjudicator.  
  
And you are, I suppose?  
  
Sarcasm does not befit you. You who is so used to being obeyed, must learn your own task. Do you remember when I told you all those years ago that wisdom came with its own price?  
  
What of it?  
  
Power and wisdom are snares if you choose to protect the few to spite the many. Wisdom begats power, but power does not necessarily require wisdom. The price of wisdom is the inability to discern might over right. You have the might and power to effectively stop Minerva's quest for forgiveness, but that doesn't necessarily mean you have the right to do so.  
  
I know that. I'm not a complete imbecile.  
  
Do you, Albus? Are you sure about that? Your anger and rigid epigraphy tells me a different story. I can feel the vitriol and sarcasm dripping from your quill.  
  
I want you to stop hurting her. She doesn't deserve to be treated like an experiment.  
  
How strange. I had thought to say the same to you, Albus.  
  
Mid morning.  
  
I'm tired of deception and I weary of your obscure answers, Arcanus. I cannot help Minerva, nor the others if I don't know what role you wish me to play. I feel like a marionette, strung up and waiting for you to decide in which direction I must now dance.  
  
I saw Minerva at breakfast. She looks like she hasn't slept for days and her eyes betray the fact that I know she's been crying. It hurts me to see her anguish so plainly on her face.  
  
Severus glanced nervously at her all through breakfast, as though Minerva was about to detonate and he is already so taut with his 'activities'.  
  
I feel like I'm of no use to anyone any more.  
  
Are you still angry with me, Albus?  
  
Who else have you been hurting?  
  
I'll take that as a yes, shall I?  
  
I weary of your evasiveness, Arcanus. Can you not answer a simple question without adding another question or your own shade of wit to the dialogue?  
  
To which riddle would you like an answer? You have only to use your wisdom to ask your questions, Albus. I have no emotions and any appeal or anger you direct at me, must be logical. You seek to make me that which I can never be.  
  
You seek to make me human.  
  
Why are you here, Arcanus? Why now? Why hold me as the conduit?  
  
I have always been here, Albus, you know that. You are not using your wisdom. That was a stupid question.  
  
I am here now, because I need to be here now.  
  
You also know the answer to the third question, Albus. For your wisdom to be useful to all who seek it, you must be resilient. I could approach the keys myself, but should they query my intent, all hope would be lost.  
  
Hope for what, Arcanus?  
  
Hope for everything. 


	23. Severus V

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Author Note: Thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her new fic, I Will Follow Thee, as well as, To the Honour of the Mother, should be on your reading list if you are enjoying this story.  
  
I have attempted to upload this story so that the formatting remains intact. For some obscure reason, Word chapters are stripped and so are my html chapters. This story can also be found (with my formatting intact) at Lord and Lady Snape, as well as AFF.Net.  
  
Severus V  
  
Five o'clock in the afternoon.  
  
I can't believe I told her that. Just up and told her everything.well not everything, but I might as well have done so. She'll never want to be near me again. I don't want to be near me and it's my history, my past that I just blurted out, just.mine.  
  
What sort of spy tells a student his past? What sort of spy tells anyone his past?  
  
Why did she have to come to me right after I'd been dealing with Draco's petty rants about injustice? Draco wouldn't know what injustice looked like if it came packaged as a Hippogriff biting his arse. He'd turn around and cast Crucio on the poor creature for having the sense to do, literally, what many of us would like to do figuratively.  
  
I'm making myself nauseated with the mere thought of getting that close to any Malfoy.willingly.  
  
To be in the same room as him, knowing what I know about the latest murders, witnessing his gloating madness and celebration sickens me. It sickens me more to know that the propaganda Draco Malfoy spouts is the same rubbish, albeit differently packaged, that I once believed absolutely.  
  
.And I told her and I don't know why I told her, but I did and now I have to work out a way to un-tell her.  
  
Is such a thing possible?  
  
I wanted to hex Draco into dust this afternoon.  
  
I had asked him to see me at the end of his classes at four o'clock. He was deliberately late, knocked arrogantly and then proceeded to try and threaten me by claiming a place in Voldemort's trusted Inner Circle.  
  
How absolutely ridiculous.  
  
Though Riddle is completely immoral and insane, Draco really is stupid to try and threaten me into acknowledging his right to harangue me with his 'talents'. The more absurd idea is that Lucius would support his own offspring in such an endeavour in front of Riddle. I told Draco as much.  
  
He left abruptly on that note, the door echoing due to the force of his exit and I knew I had to calm down before I destroyed the classroom in my rage.  
  
It must have been only a few minutes when she entered the classroom. I don't think she even knocked.  
  
I was so angry with Malfoy that I promised myself that if he came back, I'd kill him and damn the consequences.  
  
I was so focused.I nearly killed her. I don't think she understands just how lucky she is that the 'greasy git' does have a conscience.  
  
She caught me in a rare moment, yet I doubt she comprehends or even understands it. Only Albus has ever seen me in my weaker, more doubting moments.until now.  
  
I have kept myself sheltered and covered for the last twenty years and whatever pull I feel towards her has completely unravelled my resolve.  
  
I can ill afford such lapses, particularly given Draco's spirited defence of his own malicious madness.  
  
He really is quite unhinged and I had no idea that he could descend so quickly or so thoroughly.  
  
None of this is helping me to do anything other than stall my resolve to understand why I would tell a student, a child.no not a child, a young woman why I began my descent and how I tried vainly to pull myself free.  
  
If she didn't truly hate me before, she will now. Now she knows how I feel when I view my own reflection each morning.  
  
I'm having trouble trying to record my stupidity in an inanimate journal, yet I had no qualms about spilling my story, my treachery to her.  
  
I could have told Minerva; treachery for treachery, yet she so stunned me with her own revelations that such ideas didn't even present themselves in any coherent form.  
  
I'm rambling. I need to go to Hogsmeade and obtain some ingredients. That can be my thinking time.  
  
Just after dinner.  
  
I made it just in time to have dinner. I dawdled on my way back to the castle, perhaps hoping that my torment was merely the result of too much intrigue and too little sleep.  
  
No such luck.  
  
I swept along the tables, glaring at a selected few, including Mr Malfoy, then detoured to my seat on High Table. I tried to look as though I had been detained on important business and that I had deigned to lower myself to sit with rabble not fit to lick my boots.  
  
It is another mark against my name that blackens any record of good. To see students cringe away from me as though my sins were visible like the sores on a leper, just adds to the tumult I find my mind trying to process.  
  
I'm waffling in an attempt to try and forget my stupidity and it's not going to work. I know it's not going to work, and yet I still do it.  
  
My personal abyss seems closer at this moment and the wire holding my resolve feels as though it has lost some of its taut protection.  
  
I have condemned myself to feel and to share, and I have no understanding why I would choose to do this of my own volition.  
  
She came to me for Dreamless Sleep and I had the temerity to question her reasons. Her look was sufficient to curb my inane question, for it was quite obvious that sleep was a necessity she was sorely lacking.  
  
I conjured two chairs and called to the kitchens for some afternoon tea. The House Elves must have been startled by my request, for they endeavoured to include a little of everything that could magically fit on a small silver serving tray.  
  
She sat down warily and as I sat opposite her, I took the chance to look at her critically. I didn't mean to stare, but I wanted to make sure she was all right, as her face had a peaked look, as though she was valiantly trying to hold back her flood of tears.  
  
So I started talking, just opened my mouth and told her all the fears and disgust at the murders and my fear of being not trusted as I was summarily excluded from openly helping my students because of my dubious role in a dirty war.  
  
I told her about a student devastated with the loss of her parents, who sought comfort and peace from a wall hidden in a disused dungeon corridor, how she touched my hand and my heart with her open trust, though the thought would surely revolt her. How her serenity and suffering had fused into a connection I didn't understand, but that I wanted to protect.  
  
She cried then, not the sniffles and scant tears during my monologue, but real, cleansing, healing tears. It was as though I'd given her the key to let go, to feel and to share her pain.  
  
I doubt I shall ever fell so privileged again to be able to share our mutual grief for the vagaries of war.  
  
But I didn't stop there. I could have, but I just kept talking, as though my torment paralleled her tears and I felt the need to cleanse myself to at least one other human being.  
  
I told her about my place as a spy and how I came to see my error of ideology. Not even Albus knows as much as Miss Granger, though I may have to rectify that situation as well.  
  
So I resumed my droll narration of the past.  
  
I told her of a little known statute (now repealed) that sought to give more rights to those of Muggle heritage and how those selfsame rights would take the essence of purity away from my world. It was enacted following the defeat of Grindelwald and it offered reparations in the form of an overwhelming level of access granted to Muggleborn Witches and Wizards for all levels of education, employment and the previously pure and closed Wizarding society as a whole.  
  
It was a law that sought to create even more differences and unease in a world still reeling from the suspicion and intrigue of Grindelwald's reach. It sought to prejudice those like myself who were Pureblood children, by denying us the birthright of following our parents in their chosen careers, or tending estates handed from generation to generation since the time of the Founders.  
  
It was designed to create two distinct segments in the Wizarding world; there had in the past, been only one culture. The view of many, my father included, was that it was the dissolution of our heritage and way of life. It was touted that we of pure stock would lose our individual lineage and identity under this new way.  
  
It was propaganda, bigotry and prejudice packaged and sanitised for my existing world and it chafed like a collar, starched and rigid.  
  
It was the perfect opportunity for Riddle to learn his craft of deceit and he learnt well. We are, all of us, still paying for the sins of the past.  
  
By the time I was starting at Hogwarts, Muggleborns held most of the more important Ministry posts. They were afforded scholarships to Hogwarts and both the Head Boy and Head Girl were Muggleborn and had been for the preceding four years before my first year.  
  
I was unwillingly losing my identity and Riddle found plenty of support amongst the Purebloods. None noted the irony of a man born of Witch and Muggle championing the cause of a society that would have ignored him but for his charismatic and addictive model of retaliation.  
  
He lured me. He won me over to his cause. My blinded hatred for all Muggleborns and the loss of our family home was easily attributed to a stupid law made by stupid men with everything to gain by sitting back and watching the Wizarding world cannibalise itself.  
  
And I didn't realise I'd been used like so many others until I saw Riddle kill for sport and encourage all of us to do the same. He completed the indoctrination of my mind to his way, supporting, cajoling and punishing as necessary, all supposedly for the cause of purity.  
  
My intellect ignored my heart and my uneasy feelings as superfluous and weak exclamations of a child brought up to believe the Muggle world was responsible for every ill and no technological advancement of raw magic in those who by sheer chance were born with the magic inherent in their very souls.  
  
It was stupidity then and it remains stupidity now. I have watched Riddle's true followers kill families for sport and seen the devastation of a new generation being corrupted.  
  
I am tired of my role and I told Miss Granger as much. I wanted to tell her that no matter my absence from her parents' murder, I was still as much responsible as Lucius Malfoy for casting the curse and Draco Malfoy for enjoying their blind terror.  
  
I couldn't bring myself to shatter her illusions that I was somehow absent from the executions, no matter how much I wanted to tell her so. She should fear my past.  
  
I fear my past. I am the one who lived, breathed and killed to preserve everything I had been taught to believe.  
  
I hold no hope for our world if we cannot defeat Riddle, for he grows stronger with each death and with each new child taught to kill.  
  
I must stop writing shortly as Miss Granger is scheduled to arrive at seven o'clock to brew her own supply of Dreamless Sleep. The fresh ingredients in front of me are my own meagre reparation should she choose to come.  
  
I feel completely washed out, as though I've been duelling all afternoon and have come to an agreement with an opponent of equal strength.  
  
I just need to know that she doesn't hate me.  
  
As always, constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome. ( 


	24. Minerva V

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Author Note: Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her new fic, I Will Follow Thee, as well as, To the Honour of the Mother, should be on your reading list if you are enjoying this story.  
  
Minerva V  
  
About 10pm in the evening.  
  
I've just come back from the Potions classroom where I came across pure hatred in a stare. He wants me dead. I can feel it my bones and though I did my best to hide my fear, he knows I'm scared of him.  
  
I'm terrified of my own child. I'm ashamed of the past and I'm frightened that Albus will reject me too.  
  
I can do little to assuage my guilt of the past, nor does it seem likely that I can hope for any reconciliation with my only child. I fear my grandson is a lost cause as well, though if I'm honest, I knew that already.  
  
I just wish I could talk to Draco without all the posturing, expectations and resultant grief if I should do the wrong thing.again.  
  
I just want to be able to hug him; just once, and tell him I love him and I want to know that when he returns my embrace, he feels at that very moment connected to me. It would wipe away the past and help me to heal. I know it would.  
  
I hope it would remove the poison of my past indelibly etched into my heart.  
  
Just after midnight.  
  
I am so, so angry. I've just found Miss Granger perusing the Library as though it held the key to her salvation. Does she think so little of her own security that she would risk herself for something as stupid as solitude?  
  
It's as though she is blind to the danger around her.  
  
She can spend all bloody day in the Library if she chooses to, so why on earth would she voluntarily taunt evil by offering herself so.so idiotically!  
  
All of the students in the West Tower have their own rooms, unless they have chosen to share with another student. After warning her about the hateful elements in the school, she still deliberately disobeyed me and managed to sidestep the wards set up to protect her and her fellow students.  
  
I was on my way to the rooms I share with Albus when the faint glow of a candle hinted at some tomfoolery in the Library. If I could be reasonably assured that such protective wards would work, I'd have Albus, Filius and Severus place markers throughout the Library and its environs. There are however, too many books of obscure provenance with their own secrets. It would simply be a waste of time and energy to try and counteract the magic residing in every tome.  
  
I escorted her back to the West Tower silently. I have no doubt that Miss Granger is under no illusions as to just how angry I am with her seemingly benign curiosity to find her way around and away from the best protection that can be afforded to her.  
  
I tried to impart the dangers in a way that she might just understand and though melodrama was never one of my strong suits, I could see that I had upset her. She also said nothing on the walk back to the Tower, but I fear she will continue to test her environment. Hecate help me if anything happens to her and I had not at least tried to dissuade her blind intelligence and naiveté.  
  
I must admit that I was surprised to have found her brewing some concoction in the Potions classroom earlier this evening, when I went to thank Severus for the kind use of his rooms the other night. I am sure that even Severus would have tried every avenue before awarding a detention to Miss Granger for some trifling infraction.  
  
Miss Granger did not seem particularly unhappy with her predicament. I want to know why she would seek a voluntary punishment from a teacher she has railed against for the last six and a half years.  
  
Severus might play at being an utter bastard, but I doubt he even realises that his aloof and caustic exterior plainly shelters a hypersensitive soul who hates the thought that his life might just become transparent and more.human.  
  
I have no doubt that Severus sees humanity as a weakness. It is as though he is continually waging a war with his own inner demons. He controls his life and his emotions in the same way that he controls a class of students.  
  
Control is everything to a man such as Severus. It is the only area of his life that he can currently manipulate as he sees fit.  
  
I doubt that anyone really knows who the real Severus Justinian Snape is, least of all the man himself. He offers mere glimpses, but they are too disjointed to project a whole aura.  
  
I have no doubt that that is the way Severus continues to ensure his survival.  
  
Just after breakfast.  
  
Albus and I spent a rare night apart last night. I was on my way to see him when I found Miss Granger. I wanted some comfort after Lucius had departed from the school and I just needed to be close to him. I wanted Albus to hold me, to tell me he loves me, and that my past makes little difference particularly now that I seem to have chosen to reveal my shame to Severus.  
  
It seems I wanted the assurance of a commitment he wouldn't or couldn't give.  
  
Albus is in the most frightful mood at the moment and I can't get him to tell me what triggered it. It's as though he's sheltering me, though the what, why and who is a little more sketchy.  
  
Breakfast was a minefield of emotions. It is as though the grief for the war has spread and infected the one sanctuary it has never been able to penetrate previously.  
  
All Albus keeps muttering to himself is that he wishes Arcanus would get the hell out of his head and stop trying to muddle him.  
  
I've never heard him say that name before and he was frightening me with his anger. I have seen him angry before, but never with quite such an unresolved edge. He reminded me more of Flavius, than of the kind, gentle man he has always been to me.  
  
I hope he isn't angry with me, but until Albus feels ready to share his secret, I will just have to hope it was some passing infraction that he needs to resolve and not some more organic problem with our relationship.  
  
I don't think I could live with myself if I'd caused his anger.  
  
I need to forgive myself. I know I do, but at this juncture I would be as happy to ensure that Miss Granger takes due care and never finds herself in a situation from which she cannot escape. It's not that I think she would do some self harm but there are elements growing in strength in our world that would see naught wrong with using her to practice their own brand of evil.  
  
I just need to be able to find a way to ensure she understands the gravity of the danger.  
  
As always, constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!  
  
I have attempted to upload this story so that the formatting remains intact. For some obscure reason, Word chapters are randomly stripped and so are my html chapters. This story can also be found (with my formatting intact) at Lord and Lady Snape, as well as AFF.Net. 


	25. Draco V

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Author Note: Many thanks to Niamh, my beta reader. Her new fic, I Will Follow Thee, as well as, To the Honour of the Mother, should be on your reading list if you are enjoying this story.  
  
Draco V  
  
About five o'clock in the afternoon.  
  
I've just come back from sending a message to father. I saw Snape this afternoon after classes and he told me that Riddle wasn't happy with my arrogance at questioning his motives in the deaths of the Mudbloods, and that I should be bloody grateful that Riddle only thought to play with me.  
  
What the fuck is going on?  
  
One minute I'm everything Riddle thinks is good and the next minute I'm a toy to abuse and string along.  
  
I want them all dead at my feet, exsanguinated and completely demoralised. I want Riddle's power and I will have it.  
  
I said as much to Snape who told me the Dark Lord should have killed me when he had the opportunity and that what I was ranting was tantamount to heresy and treason to the 'cause'.  
  
I stormed out of the classroom before I did something really stupid, like killing the bastard slowly and went directly to the Owlery to send a message to Father.  
  
Lucius will support me. He hates Snape almost as much as I do.  
  
About ten o'clock in the evening.  
  
Father has just left me. We spent about half an hour trying to get Snape to ease up on me, give me some leeway as a fellow member of the Inner Circle, but Snape kept cutting father off, telling him that if he had a problem with my education, he could inform the Dark Lord and perhaps I could explain why I was questioning Snape's loyalty.  
  
The mongrel just keeps twisting things. Even Father said that Snape wouldn't be so confident if Riddle wasn't keeping something secret between the two of them. Snape told me he should tell the Dark Lord that I, a mere child thought myself worthy to be considered an integral part of the trusted few, when in actual fact I should be grateful to have been allowed to 'participate' in the recent activities.  
  
But I didn't do anything, other than watch. Lucius and Snape wouldn't let me. They used all sorts of excuses and when I asked Father if I could use his wand to practice on some of the Muggles, he told me I was a stupid child and needed to learn my place within the circle.  
  
That Mudblood, Thomas is first on my list. They wouldn't let me 'play' with his sister. She was going to die anyway, so I'll play with him instead. Same family, same result.  
  
I just have to work out how to get past the ghosts.  
  
Near dawn.  
  
I couldn't sleep again, but this time it wasn't the screaming that kept me awake, it was the strained look on McGonagall's face when father walked into the classroom yesterday evening.  
  
I'll have to go up to the Library later on and see what I can find out. There has to be some reason why she keeps looking like she wants to say something to me. It's almost as though she doesn't know how to start and she keeps just looking at me.wondering.  
  
Stupid old bitch.  
  
Add that and the fact the Mudblood bitch Granger was making potions for the Infirmary and didn't seem terribly upset to have detention, or want to leave, and everything seems really strange.  
  
Maybe Snape found someone as ugly as him to fuck. Someone who really would do anything for a good grade and isn't fussy how she gets her results.  
  
I wonder if Snape wants to watch me 'play' with her?  
  
After lunch.  
  
I found an old edition of the Daily Prophet. For some obscure reason, the Library keeps copies of every edition.  
  
I don't know why, but I had to copy this down. It's like I have to know that I'm not making it up.  
  
It's not real. It can't be real.  
  
'The Daily Prophet is pleased to announce the betrothal of Flavius Lucius Malfoy, only son of Titus and Lucretia Malfoy of Sussex, to Miss Minerva Caecilia McGonagall, youngest daughter of Julian and Livia McGonagall of Edinburgh.  
  
The announcement was made at the Argyle House Ball to celebrate Miss McGonagall's introduction to Wizarding society and the young couple, contemporaries at Hogwarts; though in different houses, have just completed their seventh and final year at the school. It is understood from a family spokesman, that the betrothed couple found themselves with similar interests and lifelong goals at the Yule Ball held this last Christmas. Prior to this time, it is understood from an unnamed source, that though they had grown up together and their families have been allied for many generations, neither Miss McGonagall, nor Mr Malfoy were particularly close or seen as potential life mates.  
  
One wonders at the events that saw a change in heart in both parties.  
  
The wedding, scheduled for this coming Christmas, will be held at Hogwarts, though it is understood that the reception will be held at Argyle House, home of the McGonagall's and noted for its magnificent and extensive archive of rare wizarding manuscripts.  
  
It will be the first wedding of significant note since the defeat of the dark wizard, Grindelwald twelve months ago and both the entourage and celebrations promise to be suitably grand. It is not known at this time where the newlyweds will set up their family home.'  
  
FUCK!  
  
There's no fucking way father wouldn't tell me this. Surely it's a mistake. It has to be a mistake.  
  
It just isn't true. Someone, anyone, please tell me it isn't true?  
  
I can't think of anything to say. There really isn't anything I can say. I wish I'd never gone looking for an answer. I still don't believe it, but there it is in front of me in black and white, complete with a photograph.and they look so - happy, like they've got their whole lives in front of them and nothing can touch them.  
  
FUCK!  
  
Then there's Lucius' birth announcement and it is real.  
  
It's all true.  
  
No matter how much I want it to be lies, Father's face gave me the confirmation and he didn't even realise it.  
  
She's my fucking grandmother.and no one ever bothered to tell me!  
  
As always, constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome. (  
  
Go on - tell me what you think of the story.  
  
I have attempted to upload this story so that the formatting remains intact. For some obscure reason, Word chapters are randomly stripped and so are my html chapters. This story can also be found (with my formatting intact) at Lord and Lady Snape, as well as AFF.Net. 


	26. Hermione V

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Hermione V**  
  
_**Just after midnight...**_  
  
I am so sick of being bloody coddled like a child who doesn't know which way is up.  
  
I've had enough! I'm grieving, not sick, and I really wish people would stop guarding their words around me.  
  
I've just received the first honest tongue lashing since Mum and Dad died and it took Professor McGonagall to catch me in the Library to even get that much of a response.  
  
She was really, really angry with me. More angry than I think I've ever seen her and she just would not shut up about the ever present 'dangers' surrounding me.  
  
Dangers, my arse. Of course I'm in danger. Being close to Harry paints a rather large target on my back. My parents are dead because of that target and she just doesn't understand that sometimes...that sometimes, I just need to get away from the suffocating pity.  
  
Yes, I know I'm in a wing full of grieving students, but that's not the point.  
  
I'm sick of grieving. I need to move on or the bastards win and I don't get any say in the matter. I want them to see me surviving, see me going on with my life and see me winning the psychological battlelines they've drawn without my consultation.  
  
I wanted some peace and I wanted some space in which to think. For me that's the Library. I feel safe there - as though the world can't hurt me or touch me surrounded by my precious friends.  
  
I know that sounds stupid, but I instantly relax when I walk in the door. I can't explain it as anything other than - I feel like I'm home, whatever home is.  
  
I'm just so sick of feeling...well I'm not sure what I'm feeling, but I'm sick of it anyway.  
  
I can't write any more tonight. I'm just too angry with Professor McGonagall. I'm angry with everyone...well not everyone.  
  
Professor Snape is the only person who has let me be myself and I am so grateful to him for his friendship that I really just need to explore that revelation all on its own.  
  
_**Near dawn...**_  
  
Lying on my back staring at the ceiling in the realisation that I called Professor Snape my friend, has meant another sleepless night. Now why did I call him a friend?  
  
I mean, I know he's been very good to me and he hasn't avoided talking about my parents, but...well it's all really confusing and I don't know what I'm supposed to think.  
  
He gave me his own ingredients, freshly bought to make the Dreamless Sleep Potion and he had no caustic comments to give me...at all. I can't work out if that means he doesn't mind me, or he can't stand me.  
  
I don't think that I actually want the answer to that question, though one minute I do and the next minute I don't.  
  
I really wish my heart would make up its mind one way or the other.  
  
I can't work out if he's shy or just so used to keeping people at arms length with his boundaries drawn so rigidly, that he is just as confused as me. I'd like to think I'm not the only one in a quandary.  
  
I think I'm getting sick of thinking, of trying to find connections and links in this whole muddle. I just wish things made sense, but they don't and I can't work out the key to find the link that I need to find.  
  
So I went to the Library with a thermos of hot chocolate from the kitchens and sat in the big bay window near the Alchemy shelves. I didn't even read or light the fire - I just wanted some time to think, to remember and to theorise.  
  
All I really did was daydream as I watched the candle's flame paint abstract patterns on the walls, and I could have stayed there until the morning if I hadn't dropped the bloody thermos. It hit the floor with an awful clang and of course with everything quiet, it sounded like I'd let off a bomb.  
  
Talk about shitty timing. I was mopping up the spilt chocolate and Professor McGonagall just stormed in, wand out in the defensive position and cast a targeting Lumos charm. There I was on my hands and knees and she just started in on me before I'd even had the chance to explain.  
  
She wouldn't even let me get off my hands and knees so that I could face her head on.  
  
She just doesn't understand me. I don't think she ever has and it's taken me all this time to work that out. She wouldn't let me explain - just kept telling me I was a stupid girl to be out of the wing after dark and that all manner of things could have happened, and no one would be any the wiser.  
  
Like what could have happened?  
  
Like I could have been killed physically, because I am already feeling devoid of life and I'm still breathing.  
  
So instead of ranting at her, I rant with quill and ink into an inanimate journal.  
  
I want to scream at everyone and everything. I want...I want so many things and I know I can't have any of them.  
  
_**After breakfast...**_  
  
Bloody Snape! He and Professor McGonagall kept looking at me all through breakfast and I'm sure she has told him about catching me out after curfew. They never sit next to each other, but no, they had to do so today. I couldn't even tell what he was thinking, but he pinned me with his gaze and it was...uncomfortable.  
  
Actually, Professor McGonagall looked like she was grilling him, though I've no idea why. I could see Professor Snape rubbing his napkin slowly between his thumb and forefinger. If Professor McGonagall knows him at all well, surely she must know he does that when he's really angry. I've seen him do it with the parchments in front of him and I'm rather sorry he didn't hex her for whatever it was that she was berating him with.  
  
Actually, I would have parted with more than a few galleons to watch that happen.  
  
I have Potions this morning, so I suppose I should finish up, gather my books and wits and head towards the dungeons.  
  
I feel safe in the Potions classroom too, but I'm not about to voice that tidbit to anyone who might have the pulling power to consign me to St Mungo's.  
  
He makes me feel safe...and I'm more grateful than I could ever tell him for that security.  
  
It seems my heart has decided on its own...

**AUTHOR NOTE:** As this was the only chapter currently not uploaded I decided I'd best keep everything up to date. FF.Net seems to have sorted out its formatting problems - which is great, so as I manage it, I'll trawl back through the chapters and update the formatting. Ihave written the Epilogue/interlude before I start on the second part of the story, but now I need to bunnies to graciously give me the rest.

Many thanks to those who have enquired about my health. I had an altercation with a hospital bed (it won) and I fractured my ulna and caused myself some cartilage damage. All is now on the mend and I can type two-handed again. If I haven't emailed - it's because I got more and more frustrated with the inadequacy of one-handed typing. Niamh and Excessively Perky bearing the brunt of my silence.


	27. Albus V

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, **Dame Niamh** for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, _At Any Moment._

**Albus V**

_Near dawn..._

I've had enough of this tension, Arcanus. I'm sick of constantly trying to second-guess Riddle, and trying to work out how I feel about Minerva...and her past. I'm sick of every little thing I know I have to do to protect those who fight for our world's very survival.

Oh, to be have your strength of purpose, Arcanus! I wish I could some safe shelter to observe everything until all of this madness was over. But it won't be over, and I know I have my part to play. I just wish that I wasn't the person everyone expects to have a neatly packaged answer for whatever problem arises.

I just want to rest...

Minerva didn't come to me last night, didn't seek me out or stay a while to comfort each other. I would have been interested just to know that her day had been all right, and that nothing untoward had happened. I still have no idea whether or not she's made her peace with the past, and forgiven herself the part she played in Lucius' character – whether she was willing...or not. I think that is the hardest reality for her to face in all of this mess called life. It's that she has to reconcile the results of the hand she was dealt, and the moves she herself made.

I want to see her excel, really I do, but when her son seeks to eliminate so many futures; including that of his own son, Draco, then I have to question the sanity of continually trying to find a chink in the armour of Lucius' diseased mind.

You were right, Arcanus. I was using Minerva in a way, but I thought if I protected her and ignored the past, she would find that a suitable panacea for her blinding guilt. I was wrong of course, but I did have her best interests at heart, I know I did. Perhaps it is also true that I had my own interests at heart, for I dislike being besieged by the constant maudlin recollection of _'ifs.'_ They suit no purpose other than to feed guilt, and they cause a frenzy of pain and suffering when no truly correct solution is ever possible.

It becomes a vicious circle of deceit and self-flagellation, neither of which appeal.

Ah, so you've decided to let me ramble on this time. No quick fixes this time, old friend?

I think I need a bath. It isn't the rest I so desperately crave, but it will at least allow me some private time. For some obscure reason; and no matter how desperate the times, no one ever seems to bother me when I go about my daily ablutions.

Just one day to myself would be a luxury I have not had for far too long.

I wonder if I could make a bath last the whole day?

_After breakfast..._

Minerva caught me mumbling at breakfast. Usually that's sufficient incentive for her to know that I'm trying to work something out and to leave me alone to my thoughts. But no, she had to keep badgering me, nagging me to tell her what was wrong, and she heard me say your name more than once, Arcanus.

So I snapped at her! Told her to mind her own business and stop being a bloody nuisance...and that sometimes not everything had to revolve around her. I didn't stop there. I went in for the kill by saying that I didn't appreciate her fussing about me like a mother hen searching for her lost chick.

For pity's sake I was cruel. I bludgeoned her with foul words of anger, when all I really wanted to do was take her in my arms and hold her close to me. I could not have hurt her more if I had slapped her in full view of the students and other staff.

She left me to my thoughts after that, and I left my wall in place for the rest of breakfast. Once or twice I did see her left hand lift slightly, as though she wanted to touch my arm gently, but was unsure of how I would react.

She didn't touch me, and I can hardly blame her for being wary, but it hurt all the more because I knew then just how much I'd hurt her soul...and I didn't mean to be so brutal.

You made me so very angry, Arcanus, and I took it out on the woman I've always wanted to be with...the one person I love unconditionally. Minerva has always been the person I can rely on to drag me out of one of my dark moods, and she never asks for any recompense if I inadvertently ignore her whilst some grand scheme pans out. She understood why I sent Harry to the Dursleys even though she was quite vocal in her distaste for the whole thing, and I in turn understood intimately why she wanted to look after Harry herself.

_Early afternoon..._

I didn't see Minerva at lunch today, though she did try to talk to me afterwards. I couldn't face the thought of listening to the loud chattering of the students in the Great Hall, and so I stayed here in my office.

I am so tired of everything...of trying to counter Riddle's grand plans, and the more precise worry of when he plans to launch an attack. Minerva is teaching this afternoon, so I can't apologise to her until later this evening.

I need to beg her forgiveness...and we need to talk about so many issues that I'm not altogether sure where to start.

**Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!**


	28. Severus VI

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, **Niamh** for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, _At Any Moment._

**Severus VI**

_After breakfast..._

Well, that was an interesting exercise in trying to decipher school politics. I think it was school politics, though if it is to do with the information Remus managed to secure...then sometimes it's best not to think too far ahead. Albus was...distracted, and placed Minerva firmly to his immediate right side with me next to her. He never does that unless something has gone horribly wrong, and whilst it suited both of us to continue our discussion, it was unsettling to see the Headmaster muttering to himself. If I didn't know better I would swear the old bugger was starting to unravel with all of the activities he has to watch out for in the castle...and elsewhere.

Minerva caught up to me in the corridor leading to the Great Hall this morning with an interesting and yet horrifying tale of finding her precious Miss Granger on her hands and knees in the Library at eleven o'clock the previous evening. It appears at first glance to have been merely coincidence that saw Minerva detouring from her regular path, and a fortuitous one at that.

It appears Miss Granger has a death wish, one I hope to dissuade her from in the near future. The stupid child managed to circumvent all of the safeguards in the West Tower and found herself alone in the Library. I have no doubt she thought herself alone, at any rate. The Baron makes an excellent sentinel but I doubt Miss Granger would share such a sentiment.

Minerva's threats are hollow and Miss Granger is no doubt well aware of that fact.

Minerva's true temper is something I've never really witnessed, but if all of Albus' accounts are at least partly true, Miss Granger is indeed lucky that her Head of House saw fit to curb some of her more _'irrational' _outbursts. On second thoughts, maybe such a tirade would have worked better.

I wonder if she would take my threats any more seriously? By the heavens, she will if I have any say in the matter.

Stupid child!

Such a stupid, inconsiderate child to feel herself immune from the very terror her parents faced! She is lucky Minerva found her, for I have no doubt that grief or not, she would be scrubbing out muck from every nook and cranny I could find with one of her precious cauldron brushes. In fact I wonder if the mere threat might be enough to curb her wanderlust.

If I have to wonder then I already know the answer in this particular instance. It does not make it any easier knowing that she is recklessly endangering herself. I am one person despite my seeming ability to move through the shadows, and I can't be everywhere even if I would wish it sometimes.

Perhaps I should talk to Albus and suggest politely that my first instinct to place the students in secure rooms within the dungeon complex might just need further consideration. If Albus is agreeable I might also prompt him to lay the idea in such a way as to make Miss Granger's actions seem the likely reason for the suggested change. I would love to see her face when the other students realise that her bravado and stupidity might just see them reassigned to the supposedly cold and dank dungeons. If I can manage to keep a straight face about it all, the Baron might see his way to casting a Slytherin glamour upon the rooms, and so scare the living daylights out of Miss Granger.

_Late afternoon..._

I asked Miss Granger to stay back after class this morning to arrange her detention. I did it in my own particular way, of course, verbally eviscerating her lax character in leaving a potion unattended, thus allowing it to spoil. Mr Malfoy looked at her as though he would have been quite happy to physically tear her limb from limb, and barring witnesses, I could have sent him to Hades happily. I was quite the bastard in my attempts to raise her hackles, but all of it seemed in vain. She is drifting aimlessly and seems at a loss to prevent her own soul from shattering. Though she still has the appearance of vigour when she answers a question placed before her, she is merely playacting. If I can see her torment so easily, then it might be time for her to develop that stubborn Gryffindor backbone that they all seem so reluctant to shed. Potter did nothing except silently fume, but then I didn't really expect him to do much of anything. The more interesting interaction was when Mr Weasley sought to offer comfort to her. She batted him away quite viciously and then glared at him. It's the first time I've seen any sort of tension in the _'dream team'_ and I am curious about the catalyst. Perhaps she'll tell me this evening without the need to pry it out of her?

_After dinner..._

Minerva doesn't trust me!

She questioned my need to have Miss Granger complete her potion after hours, _alone_ with me in the Potions classroom. It's not like I've never disciplined a student; male or female alone before, but for some obscure reason Minerva feels that in this instance Hermione needs someone to supervise her detention. When I queried her motivation for such a req...demand, she said quite baldly that Miss Granger seemed quite at home in the dungeons with me the previous evening and that she was just concerned that the girl had taken some obscure liking to me.

Anyone would think that I regularly instruct students in some of the more esoteric texts in the Library..._hands on_ so to speak!

I simply cannot believe the gall of the woman to question my morals, particularly as her own past is rather fraught with some less than ideal foibles. Then there is the ridiculously bald subterfuge as she and Albus take extraordinary measures to appear as lifelong friends, and not something deeper.

Who cares what they do behind closed doors? Quite frankly, I hope to never hear a blow-by-blow description of anything the pair of them gets up too!

But no...the reformed character can't be trusted, even though he's never shown any such proclivity in the past.

I like her, and yes, in the past I have thought myself quite willing to accommodate some strange fantasies about her!

There! I've said it, but that doesn't mean I'm going to lure her into my office and seduce her. I like her seeming ability to absorb even the most obscure information, her compassion to such lack wits as Longbottom, and her tenacity. The same tenacity that was so unshakeable until recently. I want to see her survive this and if it takes me treating her as I have always done, then I shall do whatever it takes to see her take her rightful place in the magical world.

I would fail her if I did any less than my best in this instance.

I would fail myself...and that's one failure too many.

**Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!**


	29. Minerva VI

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, **Niamh** for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, _At Any Moment._

**Minerva VI**

_After dinner..._

What a day!

Albus isn't talking to me and neither is Severus. I've managed to alienate both of them in one swift motion, and yet I had my reasons for it. I think they were good reasons, though it's going to take a lot of work before Severus trusts me again.

Poor Severus. I basically said I didn't trust him alone with a student, with no basis other than a hunch...a sense that Hermione Granger has decided that the man she has railed about for the last six and a half years is somehow her salvation, all wrapped in a messy, malicious parcel.

I can't believe I did it so baldly. Well, I can actually, but still, surely I would have learnt a softer approach by now?

The look of sheer horror on Severus' face at the mere suggestion of some presumed impropriety is one I am going to have to address sooner rather than later. We have no real time left to fight each other, not when the survival of our world is teetering on the edge of the abyss.

I can't believe I did such a thing to the one man in the castle who would never even think to seduce a grief ridden student, or anyone else in a similar predicament, for that matter.

What on earth was I thinking?

I know what I was thinking, so it's a stupid question to ask. I was angry at Albus' blank dismissal of his inane mutterings at breakfast. He literally told me to mind my own business and stop prying into his thoughts.

The stupid bastard doesn't realise that a partnership is just that – the good and the bad, not just the things he thinks are important. I could have hexed him six ways from Sunday for such a chauvinistic attitude, but then I wouldn't have had a chance to find out what he was mumbling about. I still don't know what he was tossing around, but he seemed a bit more _'hinged' _when I tried to talk to him after lunch.

I'd gone up to his office on the pretext of discussing Miss Granger's inability to stay in a safely warded dormitory, but if I'm honest I just needed to connect with him and catch up on the usual chatter we'd missed the night before. I needed to let him know that I'd faced Lucius and though I'd been terrified of the sheen of evil hovering like a shield about him, I had managed to keep my cool and not send him for a short, jagged trip off the south turret. I might have contributed to his make-up, but I'm determined one way or another to see him pay for all the suffering he's caused – to me and every other person; Muggle or magical, who couldn't escape his perverse pleasures.

I will see him pay for the death of my students' families if for no others, even if it is by my own hand.

Perhaps I contributed even more to Lucius than I know if I can calmly write such a thing, but then I know some of the vile nonsense he learnt. I know all too well that Flavius turned his own son into a vile perversion of a sentient being, someone only Riddle could proudly claim. If I can only save one of them, then it might not be too late for Draco to become so much more a man than he otherwise appears to be.

I know that's not possible, really I do, but sometimes it's nice to hope.

_About nine o'clock in the evening..._

I don't know what to do, though I know what I'd like to do!

I am so tempted to go down to the Potions classroom, but if I am to ever gain Severus' forgiveness, then I need to make the first move. It's not that I don't trust him, I do, but I just don't trust either Severus or Hermione if a situation arose that saw them having to confront any of their less than platonic feelings.

I don't know what happened when Severus found Hermione in the dungeons, but that poleaxed look on his face meant something, and then to find the pair of them happily brewing Circe knows what with no sharp barbs or snarling, means...well, I think it means that something unusual happened. It would take Veritaserum to get either of them to admit it though, but it worries me.

It's that odd little niggle when you know something happened, but you just can't put your finger on exactly what it was!

I just don't think either of them would survive the hurt they would cause each other. They are so similar in so many ways that any rejection or caustic comment could damage them far more than I think either of them realises.

I might just go for a walk, though if I'm honest I don't know that I'd be able to stay away from the dungeons and Severus would never forgive me for such a blatant lack of trust.

I suppose I could go and try and talk to Albus, but he made it quite clear this morning that he didn't appreciate me _'fussing'_ around him in the slightest.

I hardly think it's _'fussing'_ when the man you love is busy having an imaginary conversation with someone called, Arcanus...and you've never ever heard that name mentioned before.

Bugger Albus and his stupid avoidance tactics!

He needs to answer some questions and I need to find out if what I think is starting was the main reason for his snappish behaviour.

I just hope I'm wrong.

**Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!**


	30. Draco VI

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, **Niamh** for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, _At Any Moment._

**_Warning: This chapter is very dark, particularly towards the end. It is also quite graphic, so if you are at all squeamish, pass right on to Hermione. Do not skip to Albus, for you will have missed a chapter you need to read!  
_**

**Draco VI**

_Just before midnight..._

I nearly had her to myself, nearly, but that bitch McGonagall seems to have inbuilt radar when it comes to Granger – or any of her precious orphans.

There I was having a late stroll after seeing Lucius to the gates when I saw a shadow moving near the big bay window in the Library. So I let my curiosity get the better of me, and if it had been one of the teachers I could have said that I thought someone was up to mischief, but I didn't get the chance. McGonagall swooped past me as I hid in an alcove near the main Library doors, hot on the heels of Granger. Both of them looked furious and I couldn't make out much of it, other than _'danger...stupid...wards...and frightened me to death.'_

I could really frighten them both to death given half a chance. In fact I'd go the whole way with the right incentive.

Bloody buggered timing! If I'd just let Lucius go instead of receiving some information...information I needed, but still, if he'd stopped yapping about grand and glorious plans, I would have seen Granger sooner and had a chance to do anything I wanted. Even if it hadn't been her, but another of the Mudblood filth Dumbledore insists on soiling the world with, it would have been at least more fun than watching the old bitch lay into Granger. They didn't see me, but the Baron did as he made it out of his hidey-hole. He just looked at me and went to draw his cutlass quietly, almost daring me to have a go at enacting my plans.

I wonder who set the Baron to guard dog duty?

_Before breakfast..._

I haven't slept at all...again; and I know Snape won't let me sleep through his class – fuckwit that he is. He has some secret agenda, and I want to know what it is! Pansy is nowhere around and I couldn't even fuck her just so that I could pass some time and fill in the meaningless hours. I need to sleep, but asking for Dreamless Sleep seems to be a cowardly way to survive my fears, and I'm not the coward Lucius seems to think I am. I wanted to do more, particularly to Granger's parents, but no one would give me a wand to experiment with. It's like they don't trust me not to turn it against them, and though it's tempting to really show Lucius just what he made me, it would be inopportune...

They'll keep, they'll all keep and in the mad dash of confusion, who's to say which wand delivered which curse? I just need to keep my own counsel and watch for the signal that's coming...soon, and then I'll make them all pay! Lucius, Potter, McGonagall and saving the best for last – Granger.

Maybe I can _do_ my stuck-up old _'granny'_ and Granger together. Have them perform on me, then each other. I could sit back and watch them, making sure they maul each other in front of witnesses. I need to practice _Imperio_ a bit more, but that idea has definite possibilities. Maybe I could get Snape to wank while he watches them – it'd be the most action the greasy bastard would have ever seen...most likely. Then turn them all over to Avery with the explicit instructions to leave the two bitches for me to finish off. I'll have to talk to him at the meeting tonight, but he's always said that he'd like to have Snape's tight arse all to himself...and maybe I can deliver it to him.

_Late afternoon..._

I skived off classes this afternoon and I managed to get a little bit of sleep. Maybe it's the idea of watching Granger and McGonagall molest each other, but I did have the most wickedly erotic dream of them taking it in turns to suck my cock...and both of them unable to resist the lure of _Imperius_. They could try, of course, but the fun of _Imperio _is watching them trying to fight it, all the while knowing that they have to do every depraved thing I can think of to demoralise them and show them I am their master.

It was delicious, but the most fun was what I dreamt I'd do to them. McGonagall's easy! I just want to shove something weighty up her and hand her over to Avery after a bit of light-hearted play. Granger though...I want to arouse her, then just as she feels the pull towards orgasm, I'll bite her hard, taking as much of her sex as I can and letting the blood drip off my chin as I grin at her. I want to hear her scream – really scream – half in ecstasy and the rest in sheer terror. If that doesn't send her mad, handing her over to Avery will. Killing her might be merciful, now that I think about it, so maybe I'll keep her around for a while. I'll get a House Elf to patch her up and then do it all over again. That way I can fuck her mind and her body and I can see for myself...just how long it would take before she'd bore me? I might be able to take the _Imperio_ off at some stage and hear her demented ravings, all the while enjoying the power of knowing that I'm the one who sent her mad.

Everything is starting to come together...and I couldn't be happier. Well I could, but that all depends on how my Master's plans work out in the next little while, and the meeting tonight promises to be full of interesting _'things.'_

I can't wait!

I'm going to get everything I want; one way or another, and anyone who gets in my way...well, they'd better just watch their backs because I have a long memory.

**Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!**


	31. Hermione VI

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, **Niamh** for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, _At Any Moment._

**Hermione VI**

_After lunch..._

That bloody bastard enjoyed every minute as he flayed me with his tongue this morning. Even Malfoy looked like all his Christmases had come at once. First there were the usual snide comments as I tried to help Neville, and then just as the gong sounded and I was packing up my kit, he started to lay into me about slack attitudes and my inability to brew a _'proper'_ potion during my _'detention'_ yesterday evening. The fact that I was bloody interrupted and that he told me to leave with Professor McGonagall obviously slipped his mind.

Bastard!

And now I have a real detention this evening, all because of being caught out of bounds in the bloody Library last night! Oh, he didn't say as much, but I saw him and my Head of House talking this morning at breakfast, and it doesn't take Einstein to work out just what the topic of conversation was. I didn't even get a chance to finish my Dreamless Sleep potion so it was another restless night for me again...and he knows it too. He just couldn't resist the patented eyebrow flex as Ron tried to put his arm around me. The fact that any attempt by Ron to make me feel comfortable usually involves him making the suggestion that I lie back with my legs in the air is beside the point. But Snape's curious, I know he is...and I know he's going to ask me about it. After all, thumping and glaring at one of your best friends is bound to draw some kind of comment.

Then there's the fact that Harry just stood there trying to bend the wooden desk back upon itself and not uttering a single word! I felt like turning around and thumping him for his failure to even growl just a little bit, or more to the point look at Professor Snape. Harry kept his eyes firmly planted on the bit of desk he was trying to bend and so he completely missed Ron's piss weak attempt to _'comfort'_ me thinking he'd finally getting his leg over.

I'm tired, I'm angry and I'm bloody upset...and no one gives a damn about me in the slightest. Well each of them does in their own particular way, but I'd need Veritaserum to get any of them to admit it, though given that Professor Snape brews the stuff...and locks it away, I've no idea how I might spike anything he might care to drink. I certainly don't think it's going to be a tea and chat sort of detention this evening.

Both Harry and Ron should be up in Gryffindor Tower and I suppose I should try and talk to them. We've each been avoiding the other lately, but that has to stop and I'm the one who is going to have to make the first move. I hate having to make the first move, particularly as I don't know how to start, nor what to say, or even whether I should just rant at the pair of them and get it over and done with.

They never write books about this sort of thing, probably because it's the sort of thing everyone tries to avoid until there's a fight of some description.

I hate fighting and conflict, but hiding in a hole seems pretty stupid given all the tension that seems to be mounting in the castle. I can't hide from that, so I shouldn't hide from anything else either.

_Late afternoon..._

Well, I managed to talk with Harry and Ron, though it seemed like I did most of the talking. I did have to tell Ron in no uncertain terms that he had about as much chance of bedding me as he did of getting Professor Trelawney to make a _'real'_ lesson plan, but I tend to think I'll be a very old woman before it finally sinks in...if I'm lucky. Harry, though...well, it was like pulling teeth. He wouldn't talk, other than the odd occasional grunt, and even then he seemed distant.

So much for the supposed _'hero'_ of the Wizarding world. He's scared and if he won't confide in his friends, then how on earth is he supposed to face off against Voldemort? He lost his parents before he had any real memory of them, but I lost mine when we had a wealth of memories. I want to fight this evil, see it lose its power, but I can't do it without my friends; even Ron, and I told them both as much. It's almost as though Harry has given up without even trying and that's when evil wins. I told him that as well, but still no response. I can't work out if that means that he was ignoring me or he really is as lost as his outward appearance suggests. Ron tried to butt in and tell me I was being too harsh, but I don't think I was...not really. We all need to fight if we're to even stand a chance of winning, and if we don't fight then we may as well cede the field to depravity.

I'm not willing to do that...and I told them that as well just as I stood and walked out of the Common Room.

Nearly Headless Nick caught up to me in the corridor as I headed down back to my room here in the West Tower. It's almost as though he was acting as my own personal guard, even though he did pepper me with questions about London and sightseeing in general. It was all very odd actually. The last time Sir Nicholas saw London was from a dingy window high in The Tower, but I didn't like to pry too much and he seemed reluctant to re-visit his partial beheading. He did say that he would see me safely to dinner and my detention, though, so I wonder if Professor McGonagall asked him to keep an eye on me...to keep me from wandering out of bounds?

It'd be just my luck to have gained my own personal security guard without asking for it in the first place.

_After dinner..._

Oh, my detention is going to be a real treat, given the fact that Professor Snape loudly scraped his chair back, shot the most appalling horrified look at Professor McGonagall, and stormed out of the Great Hall.

Just bloody wonderful!

They were sitting next to each other again, talking quietly to each other, and Professor McGonagall kept looking at me all through dinner. Every time I looked up from my seat she'd make a great show of darting her eyes along the Gryffindor table, but I know she was watching me, though I've no idea why. Even Professor Snape looked at me quickly once or twice before he turned back to the poor defenceless piece of meat on his plate. If I didn't know better I'd swear he imagined it as Professor McGonagall's head and he was slicing it in jagged pieces to save himself the trouble of doing it in reality.

The only thing I can worry about is that rather than Professor McGonagall's head on a platter, he was actually seeing mine. It doesn't bear thinking about, but I'd best go or I might just find out sooner than I expected.

I wonder who else I can manage to irritate before midnight?

**Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!**


	32. Albus VI

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, **Niamh** for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, _At Any Moment._

**Albus VI**

_Just after dinner..._

I need to talk to Minerva and here I am worrying about seeing her, and trying to undo the damage I did at breakfast. I haven't felt like this since I first started courting her all those years ago, and I don't like feeling so lost for a conversation starter.

I suppose I should let her just slap me...or hex me, and then we can start to mend the bridge that I so recklessly sought to tear down between us.

I am a stupid fool to be sitting here letting you see my torment, and it won't make it any easier to beg her forgiveness for my behaviour.

I did think to make some partial amends at dinner, but she and Severus were engrossed in some debate that was neither kind nor particularly friendly. I stood behind her for a moment, with my right hand extended towards her back. I had thought to gently squeeze her shoulder on the way to my seat; on her left, but I didn't. I'm scared of her reaction, but more than that I was more than a little intrigued to be witness to the savage whispering, and odd looks Severus and Minerva kept throwing to the Gryffindor table. I'll be most interested to hear exactly what is going on in that quarter, and I just hope it's nothing too drastic.

I am an optimist though, as Severus loudly scraped his chair back, all the while giving Minerva the most horrified look, and exited the Great Hall with more than half the students watching his hasty exit.

I really do not need this sort of childish nonsense!

We are all supposed to be showing a united front, an aura of calm for the students so that they will feel more at ease and less likely to panic.

_A little after nine o'clock in the evening..._

Minerva and I caught up to each other in the Gryffindor corridor. I needed to connect with her and talk to her about my savage mood, but she didn't let me get a word in edgewise...at first.

She was so angry about my failure to trust her, and she quite bluntly let me know what she thought of our unequal partnership...and at an elevated volume too! I've only the student curfew of nine o'clock to thank for the fact that no one witnessed her in all her indignant fury, and had we been caught, the story would have passed like wildfire through the school in a matter of hours.

I've always enjoyed watching her rail against any perceived injustice, but it was sobering to realise that her tirade was directed solely at me. Perhaps I inadvertently helped her, though I still feel guilty for my harsh words this morning.

At least she didn't slap me!

Once she'd calmed herself a bit and huffed at me a bit more about being an _'inconsiderate bastard'_; all the while gently brushing away imaginary fluff and lint from the front of my robes, we swiftly made our way arm-in-arm to her quarters at the bottom of Gryffindor Tower. Once we were safely inside, far from any prying eyes out of their dormitories, we just quietly reassured ourselves that all was well despite this hiccup in our relationship.

She held me firmly in her arms and I did not let her go for some considerable time. Never with anyone else have I felt the same connection we seem to share.

I am so lucky to have this woman who loves me simply as a man, and not as some magical goliath who is unreachable. She makes me feel like I'm the most important person in her life...as she is to me. Nothing has ever stopped that feeling and I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost her, or irrevocably betrayed the trust she places in me.

Then we sat together facing each other, holding hands, and began to talk of our fears for each other. I could not let go of her and as I rubbed my thumbs gently, caressing the sides of her hands, and I sensed that we'd reached a much deeper understanding of each other. It was as though we'd finally let go of the past and started to finally trust each other in such a way that the words were merely for reassurance.

We talked about everything we'd missed in each other's day, of Miss Granger being discovered in the Library, and of the hurt Minerva had caused Severus with her accusation. But it was her solid defence of her own spirit when faced with Lucius that made my heart soar. Finally, she is all too aware that he has made of his life what he wanted too, and that she is in no way responsible for his sadistic displays. She still has some vague hope for Draco, and though it is an illusion, I left her with at least some small chance of a miracle occurring.

I would have liked nothing better than to have stayed with Minerva, but I have a meeting shortly and I'm not expecting it to run nearly so smoothly. In fact I will be satisfied to at least be left with the security of knowing that some of our information is mere hearsay.

_About eleven o'clock..._

All the planning and scheming has come to this mad dash. Riddle has chosen his time wisely, but then he always was a cunning strategist.

It's begun...hasn't it, Arcanus?

Remus came and saw me secretly at about ten o'clock this evening, as I'm sure you are quite aware of, Arcanus. All the students are safely tucked away in their dormitories blissfully ignorant of what I must announce to the staff shortly. There is no time left to plan...for anything, and suddenly the news of two weeks ago makes the most horrible sense. I have so many things to organise quickly that I've stayed here in my office, almost willing myself to try and think of some tactic that Riddle might have ignored in his lust for Hogwarts, Harry and myself. I still keep hoping that by some flight of fancy, Remus was wrong in his estimation of when, but I can feel the tension in the castle.

Can you feel it too, old friend, or are you determined to remain silent?

_Yes, Albus, I can feel it. It will soon become apparent to those who understand what is happening._

Who will understand? The teachers, the students...

_The sentinels will understand._

Oh!

_Look up from your desk, Albus. They are here now. They will help you alert your staff, but you must also call the keys to that meeting as well. Their gifts have a price...as you are all too aware of, and their payment is now more important than any of you could possibly realise._

Is there anything I can do to help them?

_No. I will explain myself to them, but they must bring their journals to the meeting. Baron Romsey will stand in for the fifth key._

Who is the fifth key, and why must the Bloody Baron act as a stand-in?

_Depravity has left to join his destiny._

But what of Sev...

_He has been marked, and all will know his sacrifice...shortly. He holds the worthiest of gifts and he is; without knowing it, the key to your survival – and to his own destiny._

But...

_There is no time to explain, Albus. Summon the keys!_

**Constructive criticism, comments, randomly hatched theories and reviews are most welcome! **


	33. Hermione VII

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The references to _Peter Pan_ in this chapter are copyrighted to the estate of, James M. Barrie.

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, Niamh for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, At Any Moment.

**Hermione VII**

_**Will to fight and need to prove**_****

_**Tenacity sparks courage true**_****

_**Stubborn countenance, intellect and joy**_****

_**Foresight be her key **_

_Just before eleven o'clock at night..._

Why does life have to be so bloody complicated?

I don't want an answer to that one, _'little book'_, because I've got enough to worry about now without steadily increasing my sense of panic, and I _really_ don't want to know that you've suddenly developed enough sentience to answer anything I might choose to write. I'm quite fond of the idea that I can get things off my chest and you don't answer back. The very last thing I need; with everything else roiling around in my mind, is to find out that I should have been worried about you from the outset – even with the Headmaster's jovial grin when I received you from God knows where!

I wonder...just how many more erratic rambles I can squeeze in before I gather my wits and recount my _detention_?

Detention is the wrong word, but there is some small comfort in knowing that that's why I went down there – really it is, but well...it was and it wasn't detention. I'm not sure where to start, nor do I know if I really want to start, but I have to...and...and...and it was so strange and horrifying that I'm not even sure how to start, where to start or consider anything that requires me to examine things too closely. None of this, I might add, is actually helping, but it's a case of either writing it down or giving into a perverse amount of irrational panic. So if this _really_ is irrational panic, then I wonder what rational panic is...or if such a thing actually even exists?

Argh! Now I'm even losing my grammar mind...but if I turn around and you've corrected that last bit then I'll really know I'm going mad...or gone mad! The jury's still out on that one.

Sitting here debating the finer points of the grammar universe isn't actually helping, but I'm not sure where to start...or where to finish. I'm not making sense! I hate not making sense, and I hate repeating myself when I _know_ I'm not making sense!

_A quarter past eleven at night..._

Well, talking to Crookshanks didn't solve anything, and he wasn't in the mood for a cuddle either. He just looked at me as much to say, _'I'm a cat! You do realise this, don't you? Given, I'm a magical cat, but I'm still just a cat, and solving the problems of the universe sits low on my list...unless it means you aren't going to feed me.'_

I should have known better, but I'm to the point where I wish you could talk to me, _'little book'_, and that's the nuttiest suggestion of all!

For once in my life I have no idea what to do and it's scaring me. I'm so used to being able to find an answer when I need it, and now when I'm facing uncertainty, it has me at odds and ends. I don't even know what the right answer is!

I'm even starting to repeat myself and I feel like an idiot. Maybe I am an idiot, but in some small way it's comforting to know that I'm not the only idiot in this whole mess. Professor Snape probably feels like a bigger idiot...not that I'd tell him that to his face, of course, which brings me to the next point.

I can't face him again. I've got no idea how to deal with everything as it is, and then there are his feelings in the whole thing, and I bet he hates me for showing that side of himself to a student. Who am I kidding? He'll take so many points off Gryffindor the next time I have Potions that I'll still be scrubbing out cauldrons when I'm one hundred and two!

I turned up for my detention at seven o'clock as I'd been brutally ordered to do, and at first there was no one in the Potions classroom except for the Bloody Baron...and he's always scared me. I'm not sure what I think of him now that I know he can be a gentleman. He took off his extravagantly plumed hat and bowed low to me as I entered the classroom after my knock was unanswered. I know it sounds utterly ridiculous, but the Baron reminds me of Captain Hook, but unlike Hook, he still has both his hands, and no moustache to twirl between his fingers. It's almost as though the Bloody Baron was the model...or maybe the original Captain Hook? It's something to ponder, not that I'd ever ask him, of course. That cutlass...even though it's only a ghostly cutlass, looks bloody sharp. Anyway, the Baron bowed low as I've written, but then he did the strangest thing...not that the bowing wasn't out of the ordinary, of course. He spoke directly to me. I don't think I can ever recall any times when I've heard the Baron speak at all, and certainly not to a Mudblood, but he was positively chivalrous...and that made me even more suspicious.

With his ostrich plumed hat in his left hand, he made a sweeping gesture with his right arm and asked me to sit near the fire. He apologised for Professor Snape's absence, saying diplomatically that he was currently indisposed and would be with me shortly. He didn't say why he was absent, just that he was...and it was all rather strange even when I think about it now. The Baron introduced himself as Sir Archibald Romsey, privateer and gentleman, and told me he was quite happy for such, _'a sweet lady'_ as myself to call him, _'Archie.'_ I must have looked like a stunned mullet, for he quickly called a House Elf – who bowed low to the Bl...Archie and immediately sent up a tray stacked with the most sumptuous cakes and a pot of the most divine hot chocolate.

Once I'd been settled in an armchair near Snape's desk with the largest slice of butter cake that I've ever seen and a mug of hot chocolate, Archie politely inquired about how I was coping with all the changes in my life recently. He didn't sit down on...or float over the hard wooden chair opposite me, but moved his hat nervously around the brim and every so often unselfconsciously stroked the magnificent plume. It's only now that I can even grasp his attempt at _'small talk'_, but he seemed more nervous around me than I was around him, and that's even stranger. Mind you, with everything else I'm about to write, it was possibly the sanest part of the night!

He seemed genuinely interested in me, asked gently how I was coping with the loss of my parents, and then openly apologised for their _'heinous'_ murder. He said that he was ashamed to be the Slytherin sentinel when such brutality could be committed against others who had done no wrong to their tormentors. Then he went on to say that he'd considered it a privilege to be able to help in his own small way. When I asked him what he meant, he shuffled his feet and quietly told me that all of the Hogwarts ghosts had taken it upon themselves to guard those orphaned by the murderous intentions of Riddle's followers. Well, that explains Sir Nicholas shadowing me for the last two days, but it makes me wonder just how long I've had a ghostly bodyguard. So I asked him if that's why Sir Nicholas has taken to escorting me to and from my various classes, and then to detention this evening. You could have knocked me over if I hadn't been sitting down when Archie looked at me calmly and said that he was my guardian and that he'd been unfortunately delayed on several occasions; including this afternoon. He told me quite plainly that he'd personally asked Sir Nicholas if he could escort me at those times, as well as to dinner this evening, and then to the dungeons for my detention.

It was about this time that Professor Snape interrupted us, and I didn't get the chance to ask Archie any more questions. I stood hurriedly once I knew Snape was in the room, knocking my untouched cake to the floor and shattering the plate. Before Professor Snape could say anything, Archie had waved his right hand over the mess and left it sitting on the side table – whole and repaired. Then Archie turned to face Professor Snape directly, bowed low to him as he'd done for me earlier, and when Snape bowed low in return I thought I might need to sit down again. If I hadn't actually been there, but had heard this story from someone else, I would never have believed it...never! Archie said he'd, _'await my sweet lady's release and consider it an honour to escort her personage safely to the West Tower.'_

I blushed and nodded at Archie, but quickly sobered when I saw the look on Snape's face. He has the _'filthy look'_ down to a fine art and the only thing he didn't do at that time was curl his upper lip in a sneer. I was so busy concentrating on Snape that I didn't see Archie leave the classroom, but true to his word, Archie was waiting for me when I managed to leave the classroom in tears...after, well after everything.

Oh Hell! I cried in front of a teacher, but he scared me. I've never seen anyone in so much pain...and I hope I never see anything quite like it again. I don't hold much hope of that, but...well I suppose I should just keep writing – after I get rid of the cramp in my hand.

_Ten minutes later..._

That feels better, but the callous on my right index finger where I rest my quill is going to be sore tomorrow with all this writing.

I can't believe I cried in front of Snape...again. What is it with his ability to leave me red eyed and drained? Mind you, it wasn't really his fault this time, nor the last time, but still it's embarrassing. I bet he thinks I'm just a weak little girl for breaking down at the drop of a hat. The only consolation; and it's not much of one, is that he had very reddened and damp eyes himself after it all.

I hope he's all right, not that I'll ever ask him outright, but still – all that pain...and _that_ mark overlaid with a single word must have left him in no doubt about what was happening. I'm getting ahead of myself again, but all I really want to do now is get this down on paper and then fall into bed.

After Archie left the Potions classroom, I moved to stand in front of Professor Snape's imposing desk with my hands lightly clasped in front of me. I wasn't actually trying to be demure, but I was worried that talking to the Slytherin House ghost whilst sitting in my teacher's chair drinking hot chocolate was possibly...probably fairly stupid considering exactly which teacher I'd imposed upon. Add to all of this the fact that I was actually supposed to be serving detention and it all seems like a death wish...which I'm sure is why he made me use my good cauldron brush to scrub out the encrusted remnants of a Cheering potion I can remember making in second year. I bet he got his jollies knowing that I'd ruined a stiff wire brush worth twenty quid, or perhaps he did it deliberately because my Muggle brush was much better than the shoddy magical version sold at the Apothecary in Hogsmeade.

I don't know the real answer, but I'm stalling again.

Six cauldrons later I was starting to wonder if all the students had failed the assignment or if Snape had deliberately asked the students to leave their cauldrons unwashed...and then magically baked on the remnants in each one...especially for me. I don't know that I want to examine that too closely, but I wouldn't put it past the bastard to have done just that!

Every time I finished with a cauldron, I made a point of carrying it back across the classroom to the shelves near his desk. At one point; with only two cauldrons left to clean, I looked up at him and faltered in my step. He was sitting behind his desk just staring off into space...and he was sweating. I could see the droplets beading on his forehead and he looked deathly pale too. Well he looked more deathly pale than he usually does at any rate. I nearly went over to see if he was all right, but I just kept moving and then went back to the sink and started scrubbing out the next cauldron. Sometimes, even _my_ self-preservation bone overrides my insanely stupid curiosity bone!

I didn't finish cleaning that cauldron or the last one. All of a sudden there was a loud crash that startled me so much that I dropped the cauldron in the iron sink and had to hold onto the edge of the basin to catch my breath and stop my heart pounding. When I looked around, Professor Snape was on the floor, squeaking. I'm sure he'd have been mortified to have heard the high pitched noise he was making, but I suspect he was trying his hardest not to scream in front of a student...well, me in this instance. I rushed over to him, but I couldn't get close as he kept trying to kick my feet from under me. I don't think he meant it, but it was like he was having a fit or something...and I didn't know what to do. I don't know how long it took me to realise that I needed help, but it felt like an eternity and then I couldn't find the bloody Floo powder on his mantle. I didn't want to leave him...in case he hurt himself even more, so I just moved outside his reach and tried to talk to him and see if I could get through to him.

Nothing seemed to work and I was so shocked by it all that I didn't even think of getting my wand and try to freeze his jerking movements. I heard a sharp snap and saw his left arm hanging at an odd angle. It was all floppy...like he'd broken his arm and although I now know that he did break both his radius and ulna, he also completely dislocated his elbow just to add to the terror of the whole thing. It didn't stop him thrashing around...at all.

I felt so useless. It was as if all of my knowledge was irrelevant and it just highlighted that I had no practical help to offer. I didn't even realise I was crying until I tasted salt, but I just kept trying to get through to Professor Snape. It seemed like hours before he started to quiet, but now that I think back on it, all of his _'fit'_ happened in a little over a minute. I know I looked up and spied his clock sitting on the mantelpiece near where his Floo powder should have been, but it still seems like it was forever.

I feel so exhausted that I'm not quite sure how I can even begin to describe my fatigue.

I had the sense to grab my wand off the front of his desk, then moved around to the left of his desk and knelt down near his head. I quickly made sure that I wouldn't hurt him even more if I touched him, and when my wand glowed pale green, I gently pushed back the curtain of hair covering his eyes, rolled him over and cradled the back of his head in my lap. I don't know what I said, but I just hope I was able to soothe him in some small way, and strangely enough I think I soothed my own raw nerves even though I wasn't thinking about myself at the time.

Once he was a bit more alert, Professor Snape whimpered quietly and tried to draw away from me, but I wouldn't let him move. I softly shushed him, putting the tips of my fingers gently against his lips as he tried to talk in between these odd little sounds of pain and embarrassment. His eyes kept looking at me as though he was trying to find the words to apologise for his behaviour, but I just kept telling him quietly that everything would be all right and that help would arrive soon, even though I really didn't have any idea if anyone was even aware of what had happened. I also ran my hand gently through his hair like Mum used to do for me when I was sick. It soothed me as a child, but I couldn't help noticing that Professor Snape seemed to flinch every time my hand made a sweep at the edge of his vision.

Rather than patronising him, I asked Professor Snape gently if I could have a look at his left arm as it was lying with the elbow at an angle that I knew would have been impossible normally. He tried to shake his head and move away from me, but he was so weak that I had no trouble in stilling his shoulders with my open palms and telling him to be still and save his strength. I also told him that I wouldn't hurt him and that he would not hear the highlights of this evening from any of the other students, or anyone else...ever. I asked him if he trusted me, and he nodded his head as best he could, then I followed his line of sight to his arm.

He trusted me. I could see that trust written so plainly on his face that it took my breath away. I picked up my wand and told him I was going to perform a cutting charm on his torn sleeve. I dropped my wand in shock once I saw his bare arm. It was horrifying and he tried again; unsuccessfully, to move away from me. It's an image that's been burned into my brain, but Professor Snape's spying has been revealed in the most gruesome way imaginable.

Voldemort left his Dark Mark intact, but over the top of it...well, it's as though the veins and arteries in his left arm re-formed themselves to spell out a single word – SPY! I ran my left hand lightly over the top of his arm – without touching the skin, and I could feel the heat rising from the dusty grey surface of his forearm. I started crying again then, partly in shock and partly because of the malice that would cause someone to knowingly do that to another human being. I don't remember placing my hand back on his left shoulder, but the next thing I knew he'd placed his right hand over my left and patted it gently to try and get my attention. I looked at him again then and he softly managed to tell me in between laboured breaths that it was bound to happen sooner or later.

I don't remember much more after that, except that I shuffled back, leant forward awkwardly and lightly kissed him near the top of his right temple. Then I rested back on my haunches, covered my face with my hands and sobbed.

I don't know how long I stayed like that, but all too soon Madame Pomfrey was giving orders to Professor Dumbledore and Archie was standing next to the Headmaster. Then Professor Dumbledore gave me a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion and asked Archie to see me back to my room. The Headmaster also asked The Baron if he'd remain outside my door just in case I got the urge to go wandering about looking for trouble.

I'm so tired that I don't think I could crawl out of my room _'looking for trouble.'_

Just before midnight... 

I was nearly asleep when Sir Archibald called out to me through my door and without waiting for an answer, barrelled through the wood to stand at the end of my bed. Without looking directly at me, he told me that he'd been asked to escort me to the Teachers Lounge and that I had to bring my journal...this journal with me. He wouldn't tell me why, even though I think he knows more than he said, but he was most insistent that I bring you with me, and that I wasn't to remove any pages from you. I will have to hang on to you so that no one tries to read what I've written about so many things.

Professor Dumbledore once told me you were perfectly safe and that I was _'well favoured'_ to receive you, but at this very moment I'm not so sure. I have to go now as I told Archie I just needed to get dressed.

My instincts tell me that things are about to get a lot worse...and not even in my wildest nightmares did I think that would have been possible after today.

Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!


	34. Severus VII

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AUTHOR NOTE:** Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, Niamh for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, At Any Moment.

**Severus VII**

_**One who would suffer, though gifted be**_

_**The first worthiest gift for he**_

_**Passage marked and like a book laid bare**_

_**The key to peace be for him to share...**_

_About eleven o'clock at night..._

Merlin's left testicle! Where on earth do I start?

I've got this overriding urge to write a short summary of the events and then burn the page... and so remove the whole episode from my memory. If it were that easy I'd have done it for so many things already. Cock-ups like this one are never easy to solve and even if I could erase my memory, it stills leaves me with Miss Granger holding a great deal of information I really would have wished she'd never ever known. I could of course _Obliviate_ her, but I don't know that I really want to go to such an extreme. Albus, of course, was no bloody use at all. He just cryptically told me that sometimes, _'our lives are touched by others in ways that aren't necessarily cut and dried.'_

I'm still trying to work out what the old devil was actually trying to say!

Exactly what I decide to do about the events in the dungeon is my most pressing dilemma, but it certainly isn't the only one. Poppy Pomfrey let me leave the Infirmary with no more than a cursory argument, and _that_ was most unusual. Usually I have to threaten the woman with not supplying whatever she happens to be low on...in the way of supplies, before she huffs off and tells me that I'm a bloody inconsiderate fool to ignore her advice and the day she finds me dead from whatever injuries, she'll hunt down my ghost to tell me that she was finally right!

Pfft...whatever, Poppy. I am however all too aware that something is about to happen. After all, I have the proof of it on my left arm and no amount of healing will stop the rather particular scarring I shall have once the skin has re-aligned itself and healed...if it heals at all. Voldemort planned his revenge and message well and I may just pay for it by losing my left arm at the elbow. I suppose I should be upset, but if that's the worst that happens to me in the next little while, then I shall toast Poppy with one hundred year old cognac and happily surrender a mere limb as payment for all my spying activities. I'll also toast my freedom at the same time, though that's a shade premature. We still have to win this thing, but one thing is certain in all of this turmoil, and it's that I'm finally FREE! One way or another I will never have to grovel, nor condemn my memory to more nightmares than should ever be catalogued by one mind.

I will never again have to dance to the tune of two masters.

I'll be free to pursue the life I've wanted for so long, but always had on hold. First I was bound by family expectations, then the stupidity of poor choice, and then finally I've paid my reparations for that stupidity with Albus and the Order of the Phoenix. But no longer will I have to watch myself, nor guard a stray thought or word...and I won't have to teach if I don't want to either. I'm so close to it all that I can almost taste the ambrosia of the future, but it's something to hold in check for just a little while longer. I'll either soon be alive and free or dead and free. I know which I'd prefer, but as soon as I start wishing for one, then the other might just sneak up on me when I'm not concentrating on the matter to hand.

And then Riddle would have the last laugh and I'd be left with the spectre of looking wistfully back across an eternity of poor choices, and that would irk me even more! I've no doubt that Riddle thinks me already eliminated from the picture, and that may well have been right without Miss Granger's intervention...wanted or not.

I suppose I should just surrender to the need to get the following tidbit off my chest and then close the page on the whole intriguing episode, but it isn't easy to sit in front of a blank unbiased piece of parchment and spew forth the whole sorry episode in the Potions classroom earlier this evening. As I've already written, Albus was no help whatsoever, other than to give me some sort of nonsensical whimsy about things not being, _'cut and dried'_. The meaning of that cryptic bit of nonsense is up for debate, but I'm too tired to try and unravel it tonight. I gave up trying to work out Albus' little quirks years ago, but still it was an odd statement at the end of a night of equally odd occurrences...

Miss Granger did indeed turn up on time for her detention at seven o'clock and it was the only truly rational part of the whole night. I asked Baron Romsey to keep an eye on her and let her know that I'd been delayed and would arrive as soon as I was able to do so. What the Bloody Baron and Miss Granger did not know is that one of my internal alarms for the Slytherin dormitory had sounded, and I'd gone to find out what had happened. Twelve students are missing from Slytherin, though I've a pretty good idea that they aren't _missing_ in the traditional sense of actually being lost. They've left the grounds to meet up with Riddle's forces, with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson amongst them. It took me nearly an hour to confer with the other House Masters only for all of us to discover that those who'd thrown their lot in with Voldemort had also mysteriously disappeared from their respective Common Rooms.

I know it sounds stupidly naïve, but I do hope that most of them find themselves safely out of the action and soon realise their error in trusting a madman with their salvation. I would have extended that same hope to Draco Malfoy; for Minerva's sake, but he's been a lost cause for years and his absence now is merely confirmation that he is indeed Lucius' son, as revolting as that realisation is.

Once we'd all conferred and done a physical count of every student in the castle, I returned to the classroom to find that the Baron had applied a very loose translation to, _'keep an eye on Miss Granger so that she doesn't wander off.'_ She was sitting in _my_ armchair drinking chocolate by the smell of it and nursing half a butter cake on her lap. The Baron; rogue that he is, was busy regaling Miss Granger with his theatrical flamboyance and so I kept to the shadows for a while just watching him. Then he surprised me by quietly extending his apologies at the death of Miss Granger's parents, and that he himself thought the crime _'heinous'_ particularly against those who had no defence for the magic used on them. Then he dropped another bit of information that even I didn't know. It is that the House ghosts have been acting as guardians for those orphaned, and that he himself had been shadowing Miss Granger. Now that was surprising and though I have heard the Baron talk before, never have I heard him sound so contrite or nervous in front of a student...or anyone for that matter.

He looked nervous...very nervous, and I made note of the fact that he carefully didn't tell her how he'd earned the title of the, '_Bloody _Baron.' Now there's a tale worthy of a little digression.

Sir Archibald Romsey, Privateer and Gentleman, but a Baron of very little. Even Archie has always said that it sounds far grander to claim some obscure Muggle peerage than to actually have legitimately owned such an honorific. Then he'd laugh, slap his thigh and try to slap me on the back. He only did it once or twice because the sudden cold sensation was too unsettling, and the shoulder he decided to afflict with his matey salute would ache for hours afterwards. Archie has always told me that he ran afoul of the King's men once too often and having lost his wand in a card game, was then forced to rely on his cutlass and quick duelling skills to survive.

That's his version, but my version is probably more accurate though certainly not as exciting to recount. Archie fell afoul of the English Muggle Parliament's attempts to stop privateers...or more commonly, pirates from preying on English ships laden with riches from the Indies. They had no qualms about allowing privateers free reign; for a sizeable fee, to plunder the Spanish and French ships, but when those avenues became less profitable the privateers turned their roving eyes closer to home. The Ministry of Magic, in an agreement with the Muggle Parliament agreed to banish any Wizards caught dealing in piracy and Archie was caught up in the whole sorry mess. When the Muggle navy finally caught up with him, they decided to make an example of Archie. He was first hung from the main mast of his ship moored at Southampton, and then once dead, he was quartered and his body buried in portions across the Wizarding world. The lesson of the _'Bloody Baron'_ was meant as a warning to other Wizards seeking a quick fortune, and he's been here at Hogwarts ever since.

Archie's right about one thing, though. His version is much more heroic and daring than mine.

Show-off that he is, Archie managed a sly bit of wandless magic when I interrupted the pair of them. Miss Granger, in her haste to stand up, let the plate on her lap slip to the floor. Before I could say anything, Archie merely quirked an eyebrow towards me in warning and repaired the plate, placing it gently on my side table. Then he bowed towards me formally, and with his usual flourish which never ceases to amaze me. He doesn't do so for Albus or anyone else in the castle, but for me he always bows low and greets me warmly.

Perhaps he's been spying on me a little too closely?

Then the silver tongued old rogue muttered some nonsense about awaiting his, _'sweet lady'_ and the stupid girl fell for it by blushing and grinning like a witless idiot given a new toy to play with. I stopped any further reflection by clearing my throat and giving her a pointed look, before I moved to stand behind my desk on its raised platform. As far as intimidation of students goes, I've got it down to a fine art. Miss Granger stood quietly with her hands clasped in front of her waiting for her punishment to meted out. I asked her if she'd remembered to bring her potions kit with her and at her nod, I asked her to remove her cauldron brush and proceed to the back sink where she'd find some cleaning that needed to be done. She flashed me a filthy look, but said nothing and deposited her wand on the front of my desk before she turned wordlessly to the old iron sink at the back of the room.

It's the benefit of hindsight, but I know now that I should have dismissed her once my left arm started to feel as though someone had wrapped phosphorus ribbon around it and set it alight. The pain really was excruciating and quite unlike the _'normal'_ awareness I had grown to associate with Riddle when he used the Dark Mark as a beacon to call his followers to him. I sat there and tried to even out my breathing, but I was all too aware that Miss Granger was still in the classroom, and that she'd taken to cleaning one cauldron; all the while muttering under her breath, and then making a show of walking across the room to place it neatly on the shelves to the right of my desk. As she was nearly finished, I was sure I could try and deflect the pain for a moment longer...well enough moments as it would take for her to finish her assigned task and leave me to scream in peace. I know I looked at the mantle clock at one point, almost willing it to chime the nine o'clock curfew so that I could release her to The Baron's guardianship, but it was not to be.

I know she looked at me oddly at one point in time, but it's all a horrible blur, with only a few moments of clarity in the whole episode. The next thing I knew I was on the floor thrashing around uncontrollably...trying to protect my head from banging against the wooden platform or the table leg that kept getting closer. I vaguely remember my left arm snapping, but it was a trifle to the rest of the pain. I could feel my arm re-arranging itself. It was...well, I'm not sure exactly what it was, but it felt like some unknown thing was knitting my veins and arteries in ways that they never should have been merged.

Riddle. Only Riddle would not have to think twice before applying such a charm to another person, but then I tend to think he's so far removed from humanity, so as to be in a class all by himself. He would see the humour in that, but I suppose madness can find humour in all sorts of avenues that others might not see.

I don't know for how long I thrashed about, but I can remember Miss Granger calling out to me. I don't know what she said, but then she was looming over me and I was trying to move away from her, lest Riddle sense her presence and extend the charm further. She had the sense to keep away from my erratic movement, but she kept talking...shouting at me. Finally I stilled and she loomed over me again with her wand firmly clasped in her right hand. She bites her fingernails...right to the quick. I never knew that.

It's funny the things you notice when you think you're dying.

She was talking to me again, though I've no idea what she said. Then she raised her wand and ran a diagnostic spell on me, knelt down and brushed the hair away from my right eye so gently that I was engrossed in her steady movement. Rolling me on my back slowly she then cradled my head in her lap. I could feel her hands shaking on my shoulders, but she just keep murmuring disjointed bits of words at me...none that I could make out clearly though. She'd been crying too – her face was all red and her eyes were puffy. I know I tried to talk, but the oddest little half squeaks and grunts were all I could manage. I know she was saying something and it couldn't have been too bad, because she didn't look upset that I couldn't answer her. I do know that she was doing something on the edge of my left eye because every time I saw her hand move into my line of vision I tried to shy away from her, but I just didn't have the energy to manage anything more than I could at the time.

The next thing I knew was that she'd asked me in some fashion if she could have a look at the injury to my left arm. It's the only part of her mutterings that I remember clearly, but she said that no one would ever hear details of my _'accident'_ from anyone, and then she asked me if I trusted her. I do, you know...trust her, that is. I don't know why I should as I don't know her as anything more than a student in my class, but if it was in my power, I would do anything she asked of me. I tried to nod and answer her verbally, but I had to content myself with looking deeply into her eyes and then turning my gaze to the horror of an arm skewed at an unnatural angle.

That shock caused the pain to reassert itself, but I was determined to remain conscious. I wanted to know what the depraved bastard had done to me and I needed to visually see the evidence before anyone could tidy me up. She, Hermione, looked a bit stunned at my acceptance of her, and I suppose I would have been the same if our roles had been reversed. She cast a simple cutting charm on the fabric of my robe and shirt and then she gasped, swiped her hand across her eyes and let her wand drop to the floor. There in plain language is the truth that my deception has been discovered, and it's at least some cold comfort that Riddle was exceedingly creative when he branded me a traitor.

SPY!

I can only thank whatever Fates are watching over me that _'traitor'_ was obviously too long a word to cause such a vivid re-arrangement of the blood vessels in my forearm. Or perhaps it is that Riddle isn't as strong as we've always tricked ourselves into believing? I must pass that observation onto Albus in the morning when I can think more clearly.

I do vaguely remember patting Hermione's left hand with my right and telling her it would all be fine, but whatever else I said was lost in a haze of her tears. I felt my head shuffling under her knees and then she leant down and kissed me just at the top of my right temple. I can still feel the tingle in the skin and if I'd had the energy at the time I would have reached out and touched her cheek. I didn't sense that she did it out of pity or because I was dying...but because for whatever reason she wanted to.

She didn't see me as she'd covered her eyes and started crying in earnest, but I watched her until I passed out...again. I don't think anyone has ever cried for me and it's left me in the oddest position as I still have to teach her in my classes at the end of the week. Add the fact that she kissed me and it's left me in an awful quandary about how to re-assert myself as her teacher, and not...well, not something else.

Albus took over from Hermione as soon as he arrived in the classroom and then Poppy insisted on healing most of the damage to my ribs and legs with Miss Granger watching intently. Albus asked about my arm and Poppy told him it was, _'a bad break'_, with compound fractures to both the radius and ulna, and a dislocated elbow as well. Archie just floated at the periphery of my vision and I must have looked a real mess as he had no witty quips for me either.

I don't know what to do, and Albus can take his bit about _'other lives'_ and shove it in the darkest corner he can find. He's utterly useless, just like that bloody mirror and its inability to show me anything other than a halo of light blocking anything I might care to see for my future.

_Just before midnight..._

I've just received the oddest message from Albus via my Floo. He wants me to make my way to the Staffroom on the fifth floor...and I have to bring my journal – this journal with me. No reasons, no explanation, just that it was a matter of he upmost urgency and, _'for mercy's sake could I at least do one thing without questioning his intent?'_ It was too tempting to say that I wouldn't need to question his intent if he wasn't so bloody cryptic, but the look on his face effectively stopped me voicing that observation.

I'll take you with me, but there had better be a damned good explanation for all this intrigue and I have a horrible feeling that Riddle will seek the cover of the _'witching hour'_ to wreak his own particular vengeance on those who seek to oppose his version of a perfect world.

I can only hope we're ready and that having relayed his intentions unwittingly this evening, he'll fall short of his target.

**_Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!_**


	35. Minerva VII

**Minerva VII**

_**Lovers old and lovers new**_

_**Renew tired souls and speak most true**_

_**The second worthiest gift for she**_

_**Forgiveness be the key**_

_About half past nine in the evening..._

What else could possibly go wrong now?

Albus and I connected in the main corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower, and then in my _'official'_ rooms. I didn't let him get a word in edgewise initially, as with everything going through my mind I was determined to have the first...and most probably the last word on his stupid chauvinistic attitude to keep me in the dark. It isn't going to work of course; the keeping me in the dark bit. The chauvinism; labelled as concern, I've had to live with for years, and Albus is hardly likely to change at this end of his life, much though I would wish it otherwise. It was more that he let me flay him with my tongue, and not only that, but he didn't try his usual tactics to supplicate me and argue his reasons for his temper.

Once I'd drawn breath, Albus hugged me close and whispered his apologies softly in my left ear, all the while suggesting gently that it might be prudent to take this discussion elsewhere. When he pulled back from me, Albus made sure to link my right arm with his left as we walked back along the corridor to my rooms. Thank heavens the students were already in their respective Common Rooms, as the nine o'clock curfew had already chimed.

I needed his re-assurance given everything else that's happened tonight. There are students missing from every house; including Gryffindor, much to my disgust. They've left to join up with Riddle, of that I have no doubt. Draco is missing as well, and though I would have wished it otherwise, I'm not really that naïve, much though I would have liked to have been in this instance. I just hope he finds himself not too badly injured so that I...so that I might have the chance to help him see the error of following blindly behind a parasite.

I just don't know if I could live with myself if I found him dead on the grounds or I ended up facing him in a duel. It would; in that very moment, be as though every nightmare had come back to haunt me a thousand fold.

Please, just let him stay safe...

_About 10:30 pm in the evening..._

I've just come back from the Infirmary. Albus and Poppy were busy conferring about Severus as though he wasn't there sitting on the edge of a bed adding his own knut's worth every so often. It was almost comical, and I would have laughed if not for the ashen look on Severus' face and the pervading feeling of tension overlaying the whole scene. Albus walked over to me as soon as he noticed Severus staring directly at me; filthy look firmly intact, and briefly appraised me of the events I'd missed since he'd left my rooms an hour ago. At my gasp, Severus just bluntly stated that he'd _'had enough bloody sympathy to last a lifetime' _and he was retiring to his rooms post haste. When I asked Albus what the bloody hell was going on, he merely patted my hands and started waffling about it being not really what I might think that it is...and that I shouldn't be upset, but that I needed to remember the circumstances he'd just relayed to me.

I swivelled around to level my gaze at Severus as he snorted, but before I could open my mouth, Severus swept past me looking quite sheepish, and he escaped before I could ask him exactly _what_ was going on.

And so I asked Albus bluntly to tell me exactly what had happened...and I could tell he wanted to misdirect the query, but he's never been able to do that when I ask him a direct question. It seems Miss Granger was in the Potions classroom when Severus was _'taken ill'_ and that she was quite shocked and is now all too aware that Severus' activities have been discovered in the most macabre way imaginable.

The night just keeps getting worse. Missing students, Albus leaving me for a _'meeting'_ with Remus, Hermione emotionally shocked by Riddle's idea of retribution, and Severus...left with the prospect of losing an arm, all the while worrying when some of his old _'compatriots'_ will try and finish the job.

I can't be bothered waiting for Albus to arrive. I just want to crawl into bed and wake up to find that it's been a horrible nightmare.

_Just before midnight..._

I was in a sound sleep when Albus Flooed to my rooms making enough noise from his office to wake every ghost and portrait in the castle. He nearly became my latest Transfiguration project...nearly. It was the look of resignation and age gracing his features that stopped me – just. Albus said he needed me to get dressed quickly and then meet him in the fifth floor Staffroom. He also added that I had to bring the journal (Yes, this one...the one I didn't think he knew about), with me. He stopped me asking anything too complicated by assuring me that it was nothing sinister in the interim, but that all of the secrets he'd been keeping from me would be laid bare in the next little while.

I nodded briefly and told Albus that I just needed to dress and that I'd be there momentarily, so I'd best keep my word and be on my way.

Everything is about to unravel to the ultimate conclusion we've all been dreading. Harry is not ready. None of us is really ready, least of all the students who will no doubt be forced to face their classmates shortly across a most grim divide. How can anyone be ready to face off against someone; no matter how depraved, and then duel until only one is left?

I don't know the answer, but no doubt I'll soon find out...so soon that my heart is racing in anxiety at the dread consequences of it all.

All constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!


	36. Albus VII

**Albus VII **

**_Wisdom, power and good intent _**

**_Great honour does Arcanus give _**

**_Friend, confidante, conduit he _**

**_Resilience be naught save guide _**

_Just before midnight... _

_There is no time to explain, Albus. Summon the keys! _

It's done, Arcanus. They're all on their way to the Staffroom as I write this. I contacted Severus and Minerva personally. I also took the liberty of asking Baron Romsey to alert Miss Granger and accompany her to the meeting. All are bringing their journals with them, though I do hope you have some sort of safeguards in place to stop them from inadvertently _'forgetting'_, or worse, trying to destroy them quickly?

I know, Arcanus, that that particular question isn't worthy of a response from you, but Severus looked particularly put out by the request. If this whole situation wasn't so gravely serious, I might have had the energy to laugh at the shocked look on his face, not to mention my dearly beloved Minerva pointing her wand at me and the energy of her temper crackling around her like a shield. There is something to be said for the advantage of not actually being in the room with an irate witch woken from a sound sleep.

There are too many secrets, and all of them are waiting to emerge in the next little while. I just hope that it's not too much to ask of my friends...

_Secrets hold a benefit only when they aid the honourable. This is not such an instance, you know that Albus. _

I know old friend, but I am so weary of all of this. I just wish it was all over and that the struggle looming over us was but a distant memory.

_You wish for something you cannot have, and it is therefore a wasted wish. It serves no purpose other than to delay your action. Take comfort in the fact that you will have the advantage of knowing about me, whilst the other keys present are likely to have much more varied reactions to...everything. _

True, and on that note I'd better hasten to the Staffroom before Sir Nicholas and Baron Romsey blurt it all out in their own unique way.

_Just after midnight in the fifth floor Staffroom... _

"Thank you all of you for coming here so quickly, and I do apologise for the lateness of the hour. It could not be helped."

Albus moved swiftly into the room after his initial greeting, all the while looking carefully around the room and ensuring that the three other journal holders were indeed present. But for the seriousness of the situation, and the varying degrees of confusion flitting across the faces of the gathered Professors, ghosts and lone student in front of him, Albus felt he probably would have quite enjoyed to moment of total confusion. This however was not the time to gloat, though the results of this most unusual gathering had not yet begun.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I called this unusual gathering in such haste, and why indeed I would choose the ghosts to alert most of you. Well, it's a long story and I would ask that you all make yourselves comfortable and allow me to tell you; with some unusual help, exactly what is going on."

Albus watched as they all started to sit down in the comfortably appointed armchairs scattered around the room. Severus sat down gingerly guarding his left arm, though Albus noted that he kept his gaze firmly on Miss Granger, as if silently asking the purpose of her presence. When everyone was seated; including Hermione, Albus sat behind the small desk that had magically appeared directly in front of him.

"As some of you are not doubt well aware, there are students missing from the castle. This has been confirmed by a head count of every student conducted by Professors' McGonagall. Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape. I can tell you all that they have left to join Riddle's forces and that their whereabouts otherwise is unknown. Remus Lupin was able to confirm this; amongst other things, at a meeting I had with him earlier this evening."

Holding his hand up to still the mutters in the room, Albus continued, "I've no doubt that many of you have much you wish to say on this issue alone, but I beg you to keep those thoughts to yourselves until I finish everything I need to say."

At the nods from his staff and an oddly comforting grunt from Severus, Albus felt as though he wished an abyss to open up so that he might find someone else to continue onto the most explosive part of the night.

"If I could ask Severus, Minerva and Hermione to deposit their journals on my desk, we can continue onto the next most important part of this meeting."

A startled squeak from Miss Granger sitting quietly on the periphery of the room saw Albus swivelling his head in her direction.

"Hermione, do you remember when you first received your journal that you came and asked me if it was safe for you to keep it?"

At her nod, Albus smiled softly and then said, "I seem to recall that I told you that you _'were most favoured to receive such a gift'._"

"Y-yes...sir, I remember."

"Well, then it might interest you to know that four others also received similar journals at the same time. None of you need fear that any of your written secrets will be fodder for everyone else in this room. Now, if you could all put your journals next to mine on the table, I'll be better able to continue this rather unique opportunity."

Albus watched closely as first Minerva and then Severus looked as though they were debating the pros and cons of making a break for the door. Both of them then looked pointedly at each other as if daring the other to move first. They unwittingly stood simultaneously and moved to place their journals on the desk next to two other identically bound books. Hermione had stood back watching her teachers' face-off against each other and so she was the last to place her journal on the edge of the desk. Albus noted wryly that she wiped her hands down her robe as she moved back slowly to her seat.

"I'm not at all sure how to begin this story, but I suppose it might be as well to just wade in and hope that it all makes sense. All of those who received these journals in front of me were well favoured, though for a myriad of different reasons. It might never have seemed so, but surely you must have been curious as to how and why you felt the urge to write in them initially?"

A wary nod from Severus and Hermione greeted him, but it was the glint of steel from Minerva that saw Albus visibly startle.

"Err, Professor?"

"Yes, Hermione," Albus answered quickly, turning away from Minerva's harsh glare.

"If there are five journals on the desk, how come there are only four of us here?"

"An excellent question, my dear Miss Granger, but one that I can only partially answer. I don't know who the fifth journal belongs to, but I can tell you that that person is not in the castle at this time. Baron Romsey is aware of the identity of that person and as such he will stand in for that key."

"Key, what key? Really, Albus. I have better things to do with my time than listen to this garbage. If Lupin is correct then Riddle is on the move and we need to start preparing our defences, not sit here listening to this twaddle!"

"Severus, I know you're confused and angry at the deception played upon you, but all of you will just have to trust me that there is a very specific reason that the holders of the journals are called, _'keys.'_"

"I'm making a mess of this, but please bear with me and I'll try and explain things more clearly."

"There is an old legend little talked about from the time of the founding of Hogwarts, and thought by many to be just that – a legend. It does, however, have a base in fact. It's a secret every Headmaster and Headmistress passes on when they leave Hogwarts, and it is my task to break a vow of secrecy I have adhered to all these years. The Founders; yes, all four of them, Severus, decided to always protect this wonderful castle and its environs with a powerful spell. In short, this spell was to create an entity whose sole aim was to ensure that Hogwarts, if ever directly threatened, would protect every one of good heart and pure aims under its protection. Now, Hogwarts itself has never before been directly threatened, but there was a caveat to the spell. It was this – that the entity would be given a certain degree of sentience and the ability to directly approach residents in the castle whom he believed would do their best to protect the initial goals of providing a haven for all those who sought to learn and grow within this wonderful domain."

"As you can no doubt surmise, there have been instances when Arcanus – yes, that is the entity's name - has made himself known to a select few. I myself have been most privileged to be the recipient of another visit from Arcanus in my youth. I believe the year was 1917 and Professor Basil Binns can no doubt extrapolate the significance of that date to the Magical timeline – after I've finished what I need to say."

"I suppose I should stop prevaricating and get to the crux of the issue. There are three people in this room other than myself who have also been privileged to have had a direct link to Arcanus. They are known as _'keys'_ quite simply because that's exactly what they are – keys and a direct link to Arcanus. Now as fantastical as this sounds, it does however demand a payment of those recipients, whilst in return it offers a gift – a gift I might add that is specific to the individual concerned. In my youth the gift I received was wisdom and the ability to look at both sides to any argument. It is something I would feel bereft without, and it goes some way in explaining how I have always been seen as wise beyond my years. I'm digressing, but it was to illuminate a point to three people whom I know have always felt at the periphery of things happening around them. To have been honoured so, even through a mild deception was in and of itself a very great gift."

"Now the Founders were quite well aware that if Arcanus chose his recipients poorly, there was a very grave danger that this fortress would become inhabited by those who sought to tear down the ideals of Hogwarts, so a few extra safeguards were instituted. The wards are keyed to Arcanus alone and he has sole control of them. I know many of you have argued that the Anti-Apparition barrier inside the school should be lifted permanently, but imagine if that were to happen and darkness was to descend upon us. We would be like fish in a barrel struggling to escape, and that really isn't an objective I would care to explore. The extra rooms are a whimsy; including a Room of Requirement that can expand to hide and shelter an infinite number of people. It's unplottable too, and only Arcanus can allow it to become visible when someone needs it. I do plan to have the younger years shelter there when the fighting starts – and it will start, my friends, in little more than a few hours from now."

"Arcanus is Hogwarts and Hogwarts is Arcanus. They are not separate, though I have often wondered just how it is that Arcanus does decide to gift his journals too. He is unlikely to answer that question, I might add, and don't think I haven't asked it of him at various stages in his latest visit."

"Finally, there are the House ghosts and others such as Professor Binns and Myrtle Barlow who have each in their own way contributed to the network of visible guardians within the school. Many have often wondered just how omnipotent a school head has to be to get the job. It is an unfortunate sleight of hand, my friends. I am human, and whether you choose to believe it of not is of little consequence, but it would be more appropriate to claim that omnipotence resides in the House Ghosts, and the other ghosts in the castle. They are constantly on alert, with their own network to disseminate information to the sitting Headmaster or Headmistress. It's no secret to the House Heads gathered here that, Sir Nicholas, Sir Archibald, Friar William and Lady Penelope have often known of occurrences in the castle long before the news became widely broadcast to those of us still living. It was another legacy of the Founders to add the protection of these sentinels; or guardians if you prefer, to the network available to Arcanus, and as a by-product to me as well."

"Now, none of this will ever show up in any official history of Hogwarts and we do have a significant advantage when Voldemort and his forces appear – and they will appear very shortly. It is; from my reliable sources, due to commence at four o'clock this morning. Apparently, a new prophecy appeared in the Department of Mysteries announcing this auspicious time, but it is of little consequence really in the long run. The prophecy is false and deliberately planted to mislead Riddle. By all accounts it appears to have worked admirably, but we really shan't know of its true efficacy until it is too late to congratulate ourselves for the subterfuge."

"I have taken the unusual step of quarantining the Owlery and every Floo network in the school. Any and all of the secrets exits have been blocked and the wards will now alert me if anyone tries to fly out of the castle by whatever means at their disposal. Anyone on the school grounds or in the castle is now here for the duration of whatever comes to pass in the next little while. Whilst I can be reasonably assured that those students left within the castle have not been swayed by Riddle or their parents, it would be prudent not to allow any correspondence that might just alert our enemies to the fact that rather than finding us blissfully unaware of their attack, we are prepared and ready to face whatever darkness he and his minions can throw at us. We must be as prepared as we can be before his Death Eaters and other alliances begin to arrive. Arcanus will alert us to any breach in the wards surrounding Hogwarts by turning the night sky in the Great Hall blood red."

"I really cannot answer your many questions now, other than to say that we must be ready to defend ourselves and fight to save Hogwarts. If Hogwarts falls to darkness, then Arcanus will cease to exist and the Founders' dreams and hopes will lie in tatters. The only people capable of stopping that happening are the leaders in this room – including the ghosts, whom I understand have their own part to play this night. It's time for me to stop waffling now, but I do hope the keys can forgive an old man the deception. It was well meant and may your gifts be as wonderful as mine was all those years ago."

With a flick of his right hand, Albus placed a few parchments on the desk in front of him.

"All of the plans we've made in the past, dear friends have come to pass and you will find your tasks on the papers in front of me. I shall leave you all now to prepare your students and see those younger years safely to the marshalling point specified. Good luck and may you all find yourselves safe at the end of whatever is about to start."

All constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome! It's time to feed my muse. :)

This first part of the story is now **complete**, and yes, I've already started on the second part of the story. The epilogue to this first part will be posted tomorrow night (my time)


	37. Carnage

**DISCLAIMER:**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author Note:** Many thanks to, **Dame** **Niamh**, my beta reader and sounding board. I doubt I would have made it this far - to the end of the first part of this story - without her help and friendship. Niamh is a talented writer and all of her stories should be on your reading list if you have been enjoying, _At Any Moment_. There is a lot more to come, and the second part will be much more SS/HG-centric.

**Carnage**

_**Arcanus be the name bestowed**_

_**Warded in since time doth flow**_

_**He be Master of this fortress**_

_**Guardian, watcher and restorer**_

I sense so many different emotions that have formed a swirling cacophony of gibberish for one such as I. Echoing screams of pain, torment and despair…human shadows involved in a macabre dance, and halting movements stunned by death, as their essence scatters on the wind. Others are left tending to, caring for and sharing themselves with those whose essence remains tenuously holding onto life. How silly these beings are! If they were to set their essence free, to eddy in the breeze, they would be at peace and find themselves always with me.

I have no way to make myself understood, save for those few who know of me, and they are not here at this moment.

The keys are living yet, but all is not secure and I am forced to watch and defend myself from depravity in my own way. I have sensed so many things in the last little while and though I might not be a living being, I am that which the Founders infused within these very walls.

I am Arcanus.

I am not sentient in the way that you humans would seek to make me. I rest within one solitary location – a castle made into a school, but one that has seen so many changes happen upon it, that the definition is somewhat limiting. I have seen evil leave its mark on me in many different ways, but I have never been directly threatened. The human known as, Riddle worked it out when I did not intervene so many years ago. What he did not understand was that I was never in danger of discovery. He sought to wipe other humans from his conscious thought, not me.

I would have dealt with him swiftly had I been threatened.

When I was created to guard mere stonework, I was imbued with a certain sense of my task, and like the chosen keys that have existed throughout that living thing known as time, I have sought to watch and listen for those who would try to expunge my symbol; the symbol of knowledge, trust and equality that is known to all living beings as, Hogwarts. I may appear to be mere stones piled upon one another to those with no sense of magic; other than the whimsy of living beings, but I have seen many things and I have watched for this time to come to pass. Within my thoughts there has always been the idea that someone at some moment would threaten that which the Founders created, but it is testimony to the stupidity of those sentient beings that tried to extricate me, that they could not…or would not treat me as a threat to their plans.

The wards, my wards have held since the Founders linked me to them and I have ensured in my own way that those safeguards will never be completely breached, as they so very nearly were this time. I was delayed watching for a more direct threat to occur to me, and so I was caught unaware as those keys called to bear witness to depravities reach struggled, and I was nearly lost in the maelstrom of evil circling and probing, looking for a definite weakness to exploit.

They did not find weakness, only strength; and it is strange, but I have a sense that the Founders had long ago decided many things without allowing me to understand that level of sentience. Perhaps they never thought that I would so closely succumb to malicious intent.

_War_

_Carnage_

_Loss_

_Futility…_

All are human words and as such they are alien to me in the strictest definition. I once told Albus that, _'he sought to make that which I could never be. He sought to make me human.'_ I have no concept of humanity, other than that which is imbued within my spirit; my sense of being, and even that was made for me, not by me. Sentience acts merely as a wellspring of comparison, but had evil been the Founders' intent, my essence would have been overlaid by deceit. I would have sought to mould myself to the changing negativity around me.

I did not succumb when all seemed at an impasse and though my poor choice nearly foiled the gathering of forces, it was sufficiently clear that in the main I had chosen well.

But how shall I start? Should I remain on the periphery and allow my gifts to the keys to stand in my stead? I can at this moment see all too well how difficult it was for the keys to start to record it all for me. They were in their own way, my sentinels – my link to the living, and I; in my own way, will always be their link should they require it.

Their essence, their being shall always stay with me, even as they continue to exist as living, breathing humans. Essence is a strange phenomenon, but whatever the Founders chose to give me by way of sentience gave me the un-paralleled opportunity to ensure that never again would those seeking quick gains for despicable aims threaten Hogwarts.

It would appear that in some small way I can offer judgement, but then I should have known that. How else was I supposed to choose the keys? Those favoured and rewarded by their gifts? Even depravity has found his gift in an odd sort of way. As one essence sought me out to bind, build and strengthen me, it looked back, and in its own unique way, helped the fifth key find his release. Like an eddying drift of smoke caught on the breeze's current, his essence was removed from Hogwarts, but his legacy will forever be a reminder of poor intent.

I am at peace now, and the final rallying call at any moment will see the blessing of the four keys who ensured that I would remain forever in my home. Those four who gathered me here have been replaced by four more who sought to ensure that depravity did not hold me to ransom, nor foster that negativity of spirit that would have surely followed.

Endless, overwhelming light and he who always felt himself on the outside of any joy, has received the most precious gift I could give – freedom!

I sense a new beginning, as though the veil of darkness has been rent in two. In its own way essence is the greatest of the gifts bestowed on living beings. As it guides and binds to the living, it strengthens and changes according to individual need. Essence without the limitations has aided me, as it has aided the many seeking to perform their final human task. Bound together as a force they did not recognise, they have ensured that depravity's hold could be defeated. It is one final call as life struggles and surrenders away from the simplicity of humanity's grasp.

It is over.

_Essence…_

_Energy_

_Release_

_Touch_

_Silence_

_Freedom…_

**END OF PART I**

**All constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome! **

**_Check out my LJ in the next few days - link from my author page - and I'll be posting the poem and the solution to those clues that I'm willing to let out of the bag. For some of the answers though, you'll just have to read (and review please) the rest of the story! :)_**

**_To everyone that has read and reviewed - Thank you! I would have continued nevertheless, but it is nice to know that someone other than myself likes it! ;)_**


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